


Mask Made Man

by Upupanyway



Category: Daredevil (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, I'm Sorry, Identity Reveal, M/M, Secret Identity, from like spiderman to the defenders to karen page making a comeback it's just too much, listen i would tag all the people that make it into the fic but there's too many
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-04 14:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20472392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upupanyway/pseuds/Upupanyway
Summary: After everyone forgets that the Daredevil of Hell's Kitchen is, in fact, Matthew Michael Murdock, our resident hero has some more trouble coming out with the truth to his best friend and business partner, Franklin Percy Nelson.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> u know what i love reading identity things so i finally sat down to write one myself (tryna do a comicsverse version bc there are really lovely netflix ones (looking at [this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16380566/chapters/38338025) which i have reread sections of an embarrassing amount of times) but comics are so much stupider. it's an AU where after the memory wipe, Matt tells his superhero friends but not his civilian friends

Hanging around criminals is, statistically, likely to increase one's chances of being involved in criminal activity in any number of ways, and it increases the chances of victimhood to a point of near surety. It's a factor that adds to the guilt the Daredevil of Hell’s Kitchen often feels now that he's pretty devoted to the whole extralegal justice venture while keeping his identity under lock. Justice and helping people. It's all he's ever wanted to do. But he’s also aware that it’s probably going to get the people close to him hurt in some way or another. He won't stop, but we will feel bad about it.

He feels bad as he swings around rooftops trying to locate the echo of Foggy's terrified voice. Wherever he is, he’s underneath the city pipes. The rushing water carries his voice further but distorts it.

"I'm telling you, I don't know!" Foggy cries. His words ring true because Daredevil had, of late, been working very hard to make sure that remains true.

"Bull$#&%, fat man. I've been tracking your cases. Clearly you're working with Daredevil," a man snarls. Daredevil startles, because this just got very, very personal.

"I'm not, I swear," Foggy pleads. He takes a moment to spit his blood onto the ground. "I meet him sometimes, but I’ve never seen his face. There are a lot of people that get saved by Daredevil. Ask any other lawyer, I swear they have their fair share of superhero cases, too." The man steps into Foggy’s space to scrutinize him.

"So tell me, _ Nelson _," the interrogator demands with a slammed fist to the desk beside them. "Why the hell does he go to your house three times a week? You must have some sort of connection. Is he planting something for you? Is he looking for something?"

Which, well, phooey. It's not like Foggy was supposed to find that out. Daredevil winces as Foggy's head is turned harshly toward the table with a tight grip to his hair.

The nighttime vigilante scrambles downward, securing a grappling hook to a roof and swinging into an open window. A woman shrieks from her bed, but Daredevil turns to her and brings a shushing finger to his lips before heading out of her apartment. Foggy's getting closer.

Daredevil finds an elevator shaft and takes a breath. There are so many people, but only one he’s really searching for.

He stretches his senses to listen for his best friend, again. "Where did you get these pictures?" it asks from forty storeys down or so. "They have to be doctored because I there's no way this is real."

"I took these myself! Who is he?"

"Tell me who you work for first." Foggy continues to agitate. Now, the Daredevil knows better than anyone that Foggy lives to be just a little bit dickish sometimes. He just wishes it wouldn't manifest more when he's stressed. Especially because the hand still gripping the base of Foggy's skull slams him hard on the wood in front of him. "#@$&! I think you broke my nose!"

"Bring me to Daredevil!" the man roars and shakes the chair that Foggy's tied to. He takes a few paces back into the room proper and stares at a wall.

Daredevil knocks on the walls of the basement and finds that the place is rich with gears and wires. He follows the echo of machinery to a lever on the wall disguised as a misplaced brick. Not cliché at all.

Then, the walls open up and the hero finds himself in a large, open area, almost like the outdoors, only slightly damp and acidic from being underground. An underground city in a residential-only zoning lot? He shakes his head at what a contracting nightmare this must have been.

The man taps his fingers on the wall, clearly frustrated at Foggy's tight lips. Foggy, on the other hand, suffers the irregular heartbeat of someone both extremely tired and extremely terrified.

The heartbeat is easy enough to follow, even amidst the others around him. Other people are in other rooms, more like suites. Homes, even. The bodies do any number of things. Some watch television, some dance to a record, some read books.

Foggy slumps back into his chair, and the man tightens the rope and plunges the head of a hammer into Foggy’s femur. He lets out a shriek that Daredevil can’t possibly miss.

“Still going to play coy?”

“Please, I don’t know anything,” Foggy whimpers in pain.

He follows strange pathways to a more isolated area in the underground city. Some old and damp vacant space hidden by complex corridors and back alleys. He follows the sound of Foggy’s shallow, pained breathing. The man picks through his equipment, scribbles down some notes onto the wall beside them. A whiteboard marker, maybe.

Then, Foggy’s close. Just on the other side of a metal door.

He swings the door open. It submits easily, not even locked.

"Hello!" Daredevil greets, bravado in spades. "Sorry, am I interrupting anything?"

The men gasp.

"You!" The untethered one yells as he scrambles to the other side of the room, clumsily reaching for any of the jangling weapons on his person. He dashes out the door and the Daredevil makes a point to run as far away from Foggy as possible before he takes his own weapons out. The man has a _ gun _, after all, and the Devil does not gamble with his friend's lives.

Okay, maybe a little, but only so much as is reasonable with his job.

-

When the pursuant is thoroughly unconscious, he goes back for Foggy. The other man is politely minding his business, bleeding out on a chair.

"Hey," Daredevil says, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. There’s a tremor to his voice, a real apology that he can’t quite put into words.

"Hey, thanks for saving me, but, um. Are you following me?" Foggy inches away as much as he can as Daredevil unties his shackles. It’s a real tragedy that Foggy feels uncomfortable around him.

"Not any more than any other civilian, Mr. Nelson," Darevil says, going for trustworthy.

"So do you know all their names as well?" Foggy rubs at his wrists as soon as he’s able. He turns to the table beside him, littered with evidence of a stalking.

$#&%. Well.

"Of course," Daredevil lies.

"Okay. What's this then?" Foggy questions, guarded. He holds up one of the pictures to Daredevil’s face.

And he can't answer for several reasons. "Um."

"So _ why _ are you following me?" Foggy demands. He can be really pressing when he wants to be. It’s to be expected because he’s a lawyer for Christ’s sake. Matt might be able to play along but Daredevil, always high on adrenaline and reeling from internal organ damage, is not.

"We should get going," Daredevil deflects, helping Foggy up and letting the other man lean on him.

"Am I in danger? Are there people after me?"

Daredevil doesn't answer because he loses either way. If he says yes, Foggy stays scared. If he says no, he’s admitting to some pretty unnecessary and possibly harassing behaviour. He knows which one is more true, he just doesn’t want to say it.

"Is this a guard dog thing or a stalker thing? Because if it's the former, I gotta tell you, it really backfired,” Foggy observes.

"Let's just focus on getting you to the hospital."

The rest of the way, Foggy is mad at him. Foggy is scared of him. Foggy is a perfectly delightful stranger who does not ask questions, but would sometimes glower offputtingly in an effort to get the other person to admit to something. Unfortunately for Foggy, Daredevil has years of navigating those glaring vibes, unbeknownst as the fact may be.

They clamour awkwardly to the nearest hospital together. Despite the Daredevil's insistence that they call the police and get an ambulance, Foggy remains adamant that they walk, even though Daredevil is pretty sure there’s a broken leg in the mix somewhere and Foggy has trouble breathing.

"Ha! I'm self-employed, buster. I don't have the money to spend on an ambulance," Foggy had laughed bitterly.

"Aren't you some rich lawyer? What's a couple hundred on a potentially fractured femur?" Daredevil frowned.

Foggy just shook his head. "We've been taking a lot of pro bono recently. Ask my partner. He's always been nobler than I am."

Huh, Matt should probably take a gander at the financial statements at some point.

So they walk. It takes nearly half an hour to get out of the underground alone, and they’re lightyears away when Foggy's breath shallows in pain and blood loss.

"Are you afraid of heights?" Daredevil asks cooly, despite the panic and bile building up in his system. He’s already adjusting Foggy's weight to rest on his back.

"More than most things, but less than death," Foggy resigns. Then, he screams because he's airborne and he tightens his grip around the masked superhero.

The Daredevil lands in a careful flourish in front of the hospital and knocks on the glass door to get someone's attention.

"Well, good luck, Mr. Nelson," Daredevil says as he readies himself for more acrobatics.

"You owe me one hell of an explanation later," the lawyer groans from the ground. A nurse walks out and starts to help him upright. "I'd let you know where you can find me, but it looks like you already know where I live." The man hobbles inside and Daredevil takes his leave as the nurse asks him what happened. 

"Lucky you had Daredevil come and find you, then," he hears her say.

"Yeah, thank God for Daredevil," Foggy agrees with a huff.

The man in question smirks a little and heads toward an armed argument arising somewhere to the west.

\--

Matt gets a call in the early hours of the morning.

"Hey, Matt," Foggy says on the other line. "I didn't want to call last night because you were probably asleep, but I may have had an incident and I'm at the hospital right now."

"What?!" Matt tries to sound the appropriate mix of surprised and concerned. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine, but I might have broken my leg a bit? There might also be some internal damage. They put a cast on me, so I should be okay to leave as long as someone picks me up in a few hours."

"What happened?" Matt asks again. He needs details for both faces. If Daredevil needs to know something, it's best to know now. And Matt is quite concerned because he hadn't really known about the _ internal damage _.

Foggy sighs tiredly on through the tinny audio. "I'll tell you later. It's a bit of a long story. All you need to know is that I got a little scuffed up last night, but I’ll be fine."

"I'll be there in a half hour,” Matt says, resolute.

He takes the quickest shower of his life and throws on some day clothes. He must look a mess and he tips the cabbie heavily to bend traffic laws just a little because Matt just has to know Foggy's okay.

"Can I help you?" The receptionist asks him when he rushes in. The waves of hospital illness and solemnity hit him but he barrels through it.

"I'm here for Foggy. Franklin Nelson. It’s Matt. Matthew Murdock."

"Regular visitors hours aren't until the afternoon. Are you a relative?"

"He's my partner." Matt doesn't mind the ambiguity. It's not a lie, but he blushes anyway.

The receptionist hums, because of course she's a stickler and all she must hear is "not related."

"I've known him my entire adult life. Please, just take me to him," he begs.

She hums again, at a higher octave. Then, she sighs and nods. "Fine. But if anyone asks, you're married. I'm not losing another job to nitpickers on my behind for faulty paperwork. He's in room 456. Take the elevator at the end of the hall and it's the third room down to the right. Do you need someone to guide you?”

“No.” Matt doesn't even need the directions. He's already located Foggy's bored heartbeat, watching the morning news with a grumbling stomach. He makes a beeline for it.

"Hey," Matt says cautiously as he knocks on the door.

"Oh, hey, Matt! What's up?" Foggy greets back. He's world-weary, but cheery. Happy to see Matt. But then Foggy hisses in pain from turning his head and Matt's frown deepens.

Matt turns serious in an instant, feeling his way into the bedside chair. "Okay, tell me everything that's happened in the last eighteen hours."

Foggy nods solemnly. "Okay, sure."

Foggy fills him in, but he doesn’t get any new information. Foggy is as in the dark as Daredevil was last night. Then he gets to the medical stuff, and it makes Matt's stomach churn.

The count is something like this: fractured right femur and broken skin from a rusty hammer. Three cracked ribs from being shoved onto the ground. Bruised intestines from blunt force. Broken nose. Cut up tongue. Bruised gums. Chipped tooth. A lot of miscellaneous cuts and bruises from other traumas. But Foggy’s “_ fine” _.

"It's not too bad, Matty, don't worry about it. It'll heal up in no time. I've had worse from falling out of treehouses as a kid." Foggy reaches over to pat Matt on the hand as it rests beside Foggy's, even though it seems like it takes a lot of effort. "Hell, you've probably had worse bumping into furniture or whatever."

"Foggy, don't say things like that." Matt's already angry from a lot of things.

"I know. You're a very capable human being despite the blindness. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply otherwise. It's just, you come to work all cut up sometimes, Matty. I worry. If you need help with anything, or if there's anyone giving you trouble, just let me know, okay?"

Matt's set frown wobbles. "You're literally in the hospital, buddy. You don't get to lecture me about a couple bruises every now and then."

Foggy stays quiet for a second. "Let me know if other things start bothering you, too. I know you always get a little melancholic this time of year and I don't think we've been out in a while without a beer in your hand."

Matt shoots up because he had almost forgotten his dad's day. And Foggy thinks he might be an alcoholic, but that's another issue.

"I'm fine, Foggy. Just worry about yourself for now."

"And you let me know if you start hearing things."

"I'm not schizophrenic, Foggy. Don't accuse me of that right now." Foggy worries too much and Matt has been an adult for a while and has yet avoided death. He’s doing _ fine _.

"No, Matt. Listen,” Foggy course corrects. “I think the Daredevil's been stalking me. He might be stalking you, too, if it as to do with the firm. Just don't be afraid to reach out if you don't feel safe, okay?"

Ah, right. The Daredevil. Who isn't Matt. Who Foggy is probably afraid of.

"Daredevil's been stalking you?" Matt ventures carefully.

“Maybe. The guy that kidnapped me last night showed me a bunch of pictures of him hanging around my apartment.”

“Do you have any idea as to why?”

“No. I don’t know, he’s a criminal, and we’ve taken a lot of cases representing people he’s saved. Maybe he’s just been curious? Doing a bit of investigative work on his own? That’s the leading theory anyway. Unless he’s developed some weird crush on me, but I’ve never properly met him before, so I don’t see how that would be the case.” Foggy laughs a little at that, a nervous sort of joke that pierces Matt a little.

“Are you scared of him?”

“He’s a stranger that punches people for fun and he knows where I live. I’m not _ not _ scared of him. Don’t tell anyone, though. I have a macho image to uphold.”

It’s certainly a problem that Foggy is scared of him. It doesn’t bode well for what would happen if Matt ever told him. But then again, Maybe Matt would never have to tell him. Perhaps they could just stay in this friendship forever where Foggy never finds out about Matt’s hobbies because there would never be a situation where they spend prolonged periods of time in each others’ presence. And that’s fine because Matt hadn’t seriously considered living with Foggy since _ college _.

A knock at the door snaps Matt out of his thoughts and a doctor comes. She greets them cheerfully, clicking her pen and looking over her clipboard. “All right, gentlemen. Looks like Franklin is all good to go for now. We have a few options. We could keep him for a few more days, since he’ll need wheelchair assistance. He can also try crutches, but I don’t imagine that’ll be too comfortable with the whole broken rib situation. Or, since I guess your spouse is here, you can go home and have him attend to you? There’s not much special attention you’ll need for healing, but I understand if taking care of a healing body gets a little much for a working man.” She turns to him and Matt tracks her heart rate change as she notices his blindness. “We’re more than accommodating here,” she assures.

“I’ll take him home. He’ll be more comfortable there,” Matt answers immediately because he can take care of a _ spouse _, especially if that spouse is Foggy. “Just let me know what he needs.”

The doctor gives him the notes. “Actually, we can get this all in braille if you have a second.” 

“Of course. Thank you, doctor,” Matt smiles at her as she leaves.

As soon as the door shuts, Foggy tugs on his shirt. “Spouse? Did I miss something?”

“I just had to lie to the receptionist to get in. Don’t worry about it.”

“I worry about it! We don’t live together! I might need assistance at any point! I could stay here so I don’t have to wait half an hour for someone to wheel me down the hall every time I need to use the bathroom! And it’s way too much to expect you to come all the way to mine to bring me to work. I could have just asked a nurse to help me into a cab here.”

“You’re not working while you heal,” Matt frowns. He leans over and traces a hand over Foggy’s cast. Foggy is injured and Matt can’t help him.

“We’re a two person business. You’re not going to spend a month fending for yourself.”

“Then I’ll bring the work to you! You’re staying in bed where you can heal,” Matt says definitively. “I’ll stay with you.”

“So you’re just inviting yourself into my home for a month?”

Matt shrinks a little. Maybe that was a bit presumptuous of him.

Foggy sighs. “That’s okay. I guess it is the cheaper option. And if Daredevil sees you with me he might be less inclined to stalk me.”

The elaborate web of lies Matt’s been living gains another thread. The doctor comes back and helps Matt help Foggy into the taxi home.


	2. Chapter 2

Matt Murdock obviously wouldn't know, but apparently, getting thoroughly beaten up and spending a night getting bones reset isn’t the most restful experience because as soon as Foggy’s head hits his pillow, he falls fast asleep.

Matt, ever the sensible one, decides to take this time to reschedule some appointments and head back home to get a travel bag of some essentials. He is an adult, after all and he can't keep stealing Foggy's clothes and hoping he doesn't notice.

Anyway, the sun is decadent today as it hits the interior of Matt's apartment just so, leaving little hot spots on the floor where it meets the hardwood. It’s still relatively early, just past noon, when a friendly neighbourhood visitor checks in on him.

“Woah, Double D. Headed somewhere?” He lands just outside of Matt's apartment and peers in from the window just as he stuffs some clean socks into his bag.

“Yeah. My partner got hurt so I’m going to be taking care of him for the next few weeks,” Matt explains, not looking back. He searches for some pajamas. Does he want to go with shorts or pants? Would he be able to borrow Foggy's? He’ll probably just end up sleeping in boxers, Matt decides.

“Oh, wow. Is the impenitent Daredevil finally settling down? Who’s the lucky guy?” Spider-Man crawls inside and walks around on his ceiling to peer down at Matt's immaculate folding skills.

“Very funny. No, this is my business partner. He got roughed up by some goon and I think I’m being chased. Better to both lay low for a while and take care of my oldest friend.” Matt struggles with his trunk.

“So you’re going to be off the streets for a while, I gather?” Spider-Man heads to his kitchen, easing himself onto the floor. He starts making a flatbread sandwich.

“Yeah. If you could just take care of things for a while, that’d be great. Feel free to let the others know.”

Spider-Man hums around his bite and waves a thumb up in the air. “Good luck with your guy. Tell him 'get better' for me.”

Matt nods. Not because he’s going to do it, but because he thinks Foggy might get a kick out of knowing Spider-Man is rooting for his health. Not that he can ever say anything. 

“He doesn’t actually know about me," Matt confesses, sheepishly.

Spider-Man stops mid-sip from Matt’s juice box. (He’s also pretty sure he’s never bought juice for himself and the last time Foggy had bought him groceries may have been around the time Matt had first moved in, but he doesn’t tell Spider-Man that.)

“You said he was your oldest friend?”

“Yep.”

“Does  _ anyone _ from your real life know?”

“Nope. And they’re not going to. They’re safer that way.”

The man in tights gawks. “Listen, I get that you’re all ‘lone-wolf’ and whatever, but you need a safety net somewhere. I will  _ graciously _ offer the advice that perhaps telling the people in your life the truth is a good idea.”

Spider-Man scrutinizes him further, moving closer to rest a hand on his shoulder. "But, because I’m your friend, I’m going to let you live your life. Let me know if you need anything.” Spider-Man offers as platitude. Matt thinks he might actually have something.

“Actually, can you take my suit? I don’t trust myself with it as long as I’m living with Foggy.” He’s going to be tempted to go out. It’s just practical.

Matt goes back to his room to place his gear gently into a worn out gym bag. He hands it reverently to the other man. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Spider-Man asks, taking it in his hand like a gym bag. He finishes the sandwich.

“I don’t know. Keep it safe until I need it again. If you could fling yourself around the city in it, it might help to keep suspicion off of me,” Matt shrugs and goes back to packing up his underwear.

“You really care that much about keeping it a secret from him?” Spider-Man asks, a little despairingly.

Matt turns to face him gravely. “Yes. He can never know.” A solemn answer if there ever was one. Spider-Man complies and slings the bag over his shoulder.

The thing about Spider-Man is that all in all, he’s a good dude. And he’s clever. Matt knows that should probably qualify the man to give him life advice, but Spider-Man is also open, with a circle of friends. Matt, well, right now he has a hoard of superheroes and Foggy.

Spider-Man nods understandingly and hands Matt something heavy and metal in turn. “While we’re at it, can you do me a favour? I need a picture of myself to give Jameson by tomorrow.”

“I’m not the best photographer,” Matt deadpans.

“It’ll be fine. Just point it towards me and stay steady.” He moves to pose by Matt’s window, holding up a peace sign.

Matt tries very hard and hopes it turns out. The shutter goes off with a resonant click and the world pauses for a second. Then, he's handing the camera back.

Spider-Man seems impressed, clicking some buttons and humming in approval. “Thanks, man. I’ll see you around.” He leaves through the window and Matt can’t help but trust him.

-

When Matt walks back into Foggy’s apartment, his friend is awake and working, tapping away at his laptop on his bed, leg properly elevated with the use of several pillows. Matt shuts the door behind him with a bag of hand picked groceries in one arm.

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking it easy?” Matt chides through the open bedroom door as he sets the groceries down.

Foggy doesn’t look up. “I’m hardly jumping off rooftops, am I?” He continues to type.

“Still, you’ve just had a,” Matt cringes at himself, already anticipating his own words. He's seen simultaneously too much and too little therapy for this. “Traumatic experience. We could talk about it, if you would like?”

Foggy stops to glare at him. “No, I don’t think I want to do that right now. We have four court dates next week, and now that I’ve missed half a day, I have to compensate.”

Matt frowns his displeasure but it goes unnoticed by Foggy, who won't stop typing.

“Stop working. I’ve gotten it all taken care of. Unforeseeable circumstances.”

"It's not work, it's porn."

"Foggy-"

Foggy stops to scrub his face and set his laptop down beside him. “Are you allergic to work or something? Matt, we’ve been doing nothing but pro bono for weeks and I have rent to pay. We have exactly two clients who pay in anything other than food or clothes, one of whom you refuse to be in the same room with because you don’t agree with his philosophy regarding jurisprudence.”

Actually, he refuses to meet with him because he’s almost certain he’s involved in some illegal weapons trading, but there’s no way to corroborate that without any concrete evidence. There’s no way to bring it up in a way that would get Foggy to believe him without bringing up his  _ other _ self. So he doesn’t bring it up. He’ll just have to continue not to bring it up. He reaches for Foggy and pats him on the leg.

“I thought we weren’t going to try chasing riches,” Matt says instead.

“I’m just chasing survival at this point,” Foggy counters, picking his laptop back up. He works for a few minutes in displeased silence before Matt talks again.

"Can we table this fight until you're better? I don't like the idea of you working yourself to death." He’s a hypocrite, but he knows it, which makes it better, somehow.

Foggy relaxes a notch and the muscles in his back mellow out their tension. The air gets lighter for it. "And I nearly died yesterday. I was saved by some weirdo who wears spandex and picks fights for fun. Let me have something routine until I can really process that, okay? You're the only real and normal part of my life right now. Let me answer some emails, Matty."

And Foggy has a point. He can't just expect Foggy to put all of life on hold until his body's better. Foggy has a mind that loves to work, and it demands to keep occupied. Matt sighs and lets himself live in a reality where he's not Daredevil and he's a very normal and grounded partner for Foggy. He only has the month to flesh out the character, and he only has a month to keep it up. He tries to think of both of these as a blessing. "Fine. But you leave any research to me. And you're not going to have any takeout while I'm here."

"Does that mean you're going to cook for me?" He can hear Foggy's excitement. Matt perks up because cooking is something he can absolutely do for his friend in need.

They eat dinner at the table like civilized folk that night instead of at the couch like they usually do. The television buzzes its staticky consonants in the form of decades-old cartoons and Foggy doesn't seem concerned about anything, which is ideal.

"Man, I could get used to this," Foggy says, actually eating his vegetables for once. They're covered in garlic, so they're tasty and gorgeous, unlike the boxed salads Foggy usually tries to eat when he wants to be healthy. "Matt, marry me right now," he jokes. Matt laughs along.

The thing is, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. He could keep Foggy safe and indulge in hobbies that don’t include weaponry. Matt decides he could make a great spouse, and he knows he loves Foggy, that they can spend long stretches of time together without wanting to kill each other. And Matt knows he would make the effort. 

Which is why Foggy will never find out. Because Matt has responsibilities to the city. Not to mention that the last time Matt had a spouse, it didn’t go very well for his wife. 

"You're not getting me to do your chores for you," Matt grins instead to keep the levity alive. He puts some more asparagus onto Foggy’s plate. He makes a stink about it, but Foggy eats it all anyway.

Matt loves Foggy so much, it hurts. It hurts when Foggy laughs too hard and riles up his ribs over it. It hurts when he has to help Foggy use the bathroom. It hurts when Foggy’s settled down in bed and he thanks Matt like he’s helpless.

But it's fine. Matt can be a carer for a while. Matt can play the role of helpful best friend who always gets enough sleep and is responsible with his time.

-

Everything goes according to plan until he’s sprawled out on the couch and he drowns in the sounds of the city. He knows the crying doesn't stop. It will never stop. The world is too characterized by sorrow and evil for Daredevil to make any meaningful headway into the mess of pain outside. And inside, Foggy's snoring comfortably and the kitchen still smells like roasted carrots. It’s enticing to stay inside. There are other heroes out there more than capable of keeping the city in check.

They're disparate calls, siren songs in a clashing cacophony, grating against each other.

His body acts of his own accord as his fingers twitch towards his duffel and he wraps a scarf around his face. And again as he climbs carefully out to the fire escape. And as he runs towards the nearest sign of distress. Matt resolves to be discreet because he would have to be.

Daredevil is a nasty habit and he would have to be more disciplined to break it.

-

Daredevil stalks back to the building when the bulk of the noise has died down and his body aches with the activity.

It's way too early for normal people to be up, so Daredevil thinks he's in the clear when he hops down to Foggy's apartment just past what must be 3am. But just as his clumsy feet rattle the metal structure, Foggy's steady breathing startles and the man awakes. He whips his head to face the bedroom window and yelps.

"Holy $#&%!" he exclaims as Daredevil freezes in his spot. "It's you!" The masked man starts to climb back up the steps for some refuge until Foggy’s back asleep. "Stop! I want to talk to you!"

Daredevil contemplates leaving. There’s a whole city out there and being anywhere else is a better idea than here. Against his better judgement, he complies.

"Why are you stalking me?" Foggy asks from his bed. The Daredevil leans into his window and tries to smirk in an aloof sort of way despite the dark and the mask.

"I'm not,” he states, though it comes out more like a question.

"Why are you here? Where's your suit?" Foggy questions. It’s not accusatory, exactly, but it’s not friendly either.

"You're dreaming," Daredevil tries with a mystical wave to his fingers. He doesn't think it works.

Foggy sighs and waves Daredevil in inside. "Just get in here. My friend's just in the other room and I'll kill you if he loses sleep over this."

"Oh? A visitor? I didn’t know you were the type to entertain  _ guests _ ," Daredevil teases. He’s only trying to play along. Was that too dickish? Too flirty? Daredevil doesn’t care, he just has to make sure Foggy doesn't start connecting dots. He climbs into the apartment even though he knows he really shouldn’t.

"Don't mock me, I have plenty of suitors," Foggy counter haughtily. Daredevil resolutely does not get jealous of these probably fictive suitors. "But no, this isn't one of them. He's a friend. I just feel like we've been on the downs lately and he needs sleep."

"What do you mean?" Daredevil asks, too genuine for this exchange. He’s curious, though, because he had been thinking they had been doing pretty alright, considering. He takes a seat on the chair beside Foggy’s bed.

Foggy scoffs. "What are you? My therapist?" he retorts.

"How 'bout a concerned citizen?" Daredevil suggests, leaning back and closing his eyes to relax. They’re just two friends, at the end of the day. Matt has no business being anxious around Foggy.

"This isn't a public issue," Foggy says, settling down into his own bed as well.

"You're the best defense attorney on this side of New York, so I could argue that it is."

Foggy thinks for a moment and lets out another sigh. He sighs entirely too often. Worse, he sighs too often because of  _ Matt _ . 

"Well, if you're really interested, we're supposed to be best friends but he hasn't been talking to me lately. It's around the time of year his dad passed away so I think he might be slipping into something and maybe he's not coping well. Our firm's also been steadily going into debt because we're too good-hearted to take on people with money. Also, I have a few broken bones and this black eye is killer." Foggy sounds utterly defeated as he sinks incrementally closer to sleep. "I've just had better days, I guess."

Daredevil takes it all in. Up until recently, he had been living with the impression that Foggy was some immutable constant in his life. Immovably his best friend, partner, and confidante. But, it turns out, relationships require mutual effort. Go figure.

It's surely unfair, at the very least, to leverage information he got under deceitful circumstances, but knowledge is knowledge and Matt resolves to try harder.

"What about you, dark stranger? What's been up with you?" Foggy asks into the room.

Matt should go for honesty. Foggy values honesty. "I've also been having a weird few days as of late," he confides.

"Care to elaborate?"

"No." Daredevil smirks again. A loophole. Not technically dishonesty.

"Then tell me why you've been stalking me."

"It's not stalking," Daredevil insists. "It's like you said. Guard dogging." He can spin a half truth. That's not lying, either.

Foggy's body springs alert. "Am I in danger?" He asks from under his sheets.

Half truth. "Not immediately. But with the people you associate with? It's probably coming." Foggy relaxes, then, laughing at the Daredevil bitterly.

"Hate to break into ya, buddy, but the only reason I've been beat up in recent history is for associating with you. Not that I don't appreciate the save."

The statement really does sting. Daredevil knows the irony of that whole protection plan, and he knows the depth of his failure as well. "Sorry," he says. And more quietly, "and you're welcome.

Foggy waves it off because he's brave and strong and perfect. "It's nothing. It's New York. Who doesn't get kidnapped from time to time?" That shouldn't be true. Certainly, weird things do happen at an alarming frequency, but that's no reason for Foggy to resign himself to danger as inevitable.

"I'll protect you," Daredevil says quickly. "I'll save you. Every time. You can trust me." He wants Foggy to believe him and not to be scared of anything, ever again.

Foggy just chuckles nervously, not knowing how to take a pledge like that. "Oh, wow. You're pretty intense. Are you saying these things as a concerned citizen? Or are you actually an admirer?"

Daredevil gets up to leave. He's already embarrassed himself enough tonight. "Sorry. I'll leave."

"No, stay!" Foggy laughs, more genuinely. "You're endlessly fascinating and I'd love to pick your brain."

"Are you sure?"

Foggy shrugs noncommittally, but his heart rate is easing towards truly relaxed. "I'm not doing anything and I just slept half the day, anyway." Foggy yawns, but Daredevil can't refuse the company. So he stays seated and finds a comfortable position in the chair.

"What do you want to know?" Daredevil asks in a low, calming voice, so as not to ruin the restful state Foggy's in.

"I don't know. Anything cool about the secret ring of superhero vigilantes you're allowed to tell me? What happened to your suit?" he prompts, though his words come out breathy and unfocused.

"I couldn't get to it. I thought this was more stylish anyhow," Matt laughs. And it's just Matt now. Matt under the mask, talking to Foggy, just like any other time.

"Sure. Where did you even find a scarf like that? Is that checker print?"

Matt shrugs, because hell if he knows. "It belonged to an old girlfriend I think."

"Ah, so you do have a social life," Foggy teases, lightly.

"Not so much these days."

Foggy exhales softly. "Then tell me about the city."

"Maybe some other time. I think you're getting sleepy."

"No, not at all," Foggy breathes quietly, half asleep and tired to the broken bone. "And I like listening to your voice." Matt lurches a little. His heart aches for more proximity. For answers to questions he hadn't let himself have in years. "And you saved my life last night. I do feel safe with you, despite myself." Another gut punch, an olive branch to Daredevil, the weirdo stranger.

Foggy settles in his bed. It's not long before sleep catches him.

Matt sits on the chair for a few more moments. He wonders if he can have something with Foggy as Daredevil. He wonders if he can win his friend over somehow. Mostly, he thinks about what Spider-Man had said, about a safety net. 

There are several points of consideration. Foggy could grow to like Daredevil. They could work together. They could be friends. He could keep Foggy safe out in the open And not be relegated to stalker guard dog.

And if Foggy's willing to build a relationship with both sides of him, maybe one day it wouldn't be a disaster if both identities converged.

But it's also true that even being suspected of being in cahoots with Daredevil already put a target on Foggy's head. He could be attacked again. He could be disbarred. Worse, he could make the choice to leave and then Matt would be alone with nothing to ground him.

And besides all that, it's selfish to want it both ways. He wants the close friendship. He wants the hero worship. He wants Foggy to stay with him. He wants Foggy out of danger. He doesn't want to stop fighting. He wants, he wants, he wants. And it's not fair to demand Foggy stay with him through that want, especially because Foggy can't know what he's consenting to.

Riddled with guilt and longing, Matt walks out into the next room through the bedroom door and gets out of the slapdash combat clothes. The talk feels like progress, though he doesn't know what towards. He falls into an uneasy sleep and hopes for the best. He's used to challenging futility.


	3. Chapter 3

One of the greater things about self-employment is the freedom to make one’s own schedule. Matt is very much allowed to spend his days with Foggy between meetings and court dates and he can say he’s a functional man about it.

Foggy, on the other hand, spends most days by himself, or Matt helps wheel him around the city. Foggy has a very small list of places he can go at the moment, and it’s making them both feel stuffy. Foggy at home and Matt at work, tamping down his urges to chase the city at night. That first time was already plenty risky and he had been easily caught.

"We’re going to pay your dad a visit," Foggy says after a week and a half. Today’s the day. Matt's already unfolding his wheelchair. Foggy stops him with a whine. "Matt, no, I'll get my crutches. I can walk now," Foggy assures.

It’s too soon, and Foggy’s ribs are still very much on the mend. Matt wishes he would take better care of himself. "For how long, though? You're supposed to be taking it  _ easy _ ."

"I've been taking it plenty easy,” Foggy argues petulantly. “Please? We can take plenty of breaks."

Matt agrees to it, but he isn't happy about it.

They take public transportation because Foggy insists that he had missed the smells of the street and being around other people. It must be a funny sight, Matt muses. A blind man helping his broken-bodied friend up escalators and guiding him out into the street. Fortunately, though, most people make plenty of room for them.

So they make it to the cemetery with relative ease. Foggy leans on him as Matt thinks his sad thoughts about his father, about how long it had been since everything had started. It’s nice, though, to have a warm and living body beside him as he pays his respects.

They walk to the park together after, and Foggy buys them both ice cream. They plop down on the nearest free bench and they let the city’s serenity overtake them for some thoughtful moments. It's a Friday afternoon and it's almost rush hour. It's prime time for people who aren't cursed with a 9-to-5 to wander the small islands of nature to be found in New York. There's relatively fresh air here. There's pleasant chatter. There are dogs hopping merrily along on the warm summer day.

Most people, nowadays, don't even bat an eye to Spider-Man (or any other hero in a suit) swinging about the city. Most people also don't catch the hero's attention.

"Is it just me or is Spider-Man waving at us?" Foggy asks Matt, looking beyond his shoulder.

"Is he?" Matt fights the urge to pick Foggy up and leave.

"Considering that he's swinging this way, I think so."

"Hey, Matt!" the man says as he lands neatly in front of their park bench. Foggy’s ice cream falls to the floor and Matt replaces it with his own.

"Matty, did you neglect to tell me that you know Spider-Man?!" Foggy sounds like he's losing his mind.

"Well, of course. Daredevil's a good friend of mine," the masked man says and shakes Foggy's hand. Matt gets the distinct impression that Spider-Man is smirking mischievously.

There's maybe some short circuiting going on. On many sides. "Did you neglect to tell me you know Daredevil?!" Foggy asks.

"Um." Both faces turn to him.

"Is that why you were so weird when I told you he was stalking me?" Foggy whispers his dawning realization.

Matt chokes. Spider-Man chortles behind him. "Yes," the former says, slowly. "Daredevil and I are friends. I, uh, I told him to watch after you." Matt feels the lie in his mouth. He has maybe another two and a half weeks of living with Foggy. That's too much time to keep pretending. Matt does the mental math and berates himself.

"That sure explains a lot," Foggy nods along. "You could have just told me, bud. Then I wouldn’t be feeling like a piece for warning you about him."

Spider-Man gawks between them. "Matt, can I talk to you for a second?"

He nods vigorously and drags Spider-Man to a nearby tree and they hiss at each other under the oak.

"You still haven't told him?" Spider-Man asks.

"No! I told you I wasn't planning on it! Why would you just out me like that?" Matt sweats.

"I thought you'd say something by now! How are you going to romance the guy without telling him about Daredevil?"

"What are you talking about?!" Does he want to romance Foggy? What's going on?

"You live with him! I don't know if you've ever worked with yourself, but it's like you can't go thirty minutes without mentioning Foggy, your best friend, your moral centre, your soulmate, or whatever. It's very broody and on brand for you."

Matt buries his head in his hands and fights with himself.

Spider-Man backs off and tries to comfort him. "Look, man. I'm sorry. I didn't know. Let me do something to make it up to you." Matt receives an apologetic pat on the shoulder.

"Do you still have my suit?"

"Of course."

"Wear it out tonight. Spend some time in midtown. Make sure Foggy sees."

Spider-Man sighs. "You're really serious about this, huh?"

Matt nods.

"Look, I'm not going to make choices for you. But I really think that-"

"He never finds out about me. It keeps him safe,” Matt insists.

"I know you don't want to hear all the ways you're wrong, so I'll just let this be a learning moment for all of us."

"Thanks," Matt frowns.

Spider-Man takes his leave via web. Matt makes his way back to Foggy, who seems to be taking pictures of himself with Spider-Man in the background.

"Having fun?" Matt asks, leaning down to rest his elbows on the back of the bench beside Foggy.

"Yeah, actually. My mood is a thousand percent better now that I know you know  _ Spider-Man _ ! You're so _ cool _ , Matt!" He sounds like he’s smiling and Matt smiles back. It's certainly nice to be thought of as  _ cool _ , childish as the notion may be.

"So what were you guys talking about? Inner city crime or something?"

"Something like that," Matt agrees. Foggy continues to barrage him with questions.

"How did you meet? Does he visit you often?" Foggy asks, putting his phone back into his pocket. He shifts over to make room for Matt.

"What do you mean?"

“Well, I was reading the  _ Bugle _ and I noticed a picture of the Spider-Guy. I thought the background looked a bit familiar, and now that it’s come up, I’m pretty sure it’s your apartment. Are you having group hangouts with superheroes without me?” Quietly, he asks, “are you embarrassed about me?”

“No!” he says, mortified at the notion. “It’s just…” Matt wrestles his reality into a lie. “Daredevil saved me from a mugging recently. I told him I’m a lawyer and gave us our contact. I didn’t want you to make a fuss.”

“You got mugged and didn’t tell me?” Foggy asks, outraged. “You can tell me these things. You know I worry.” It’s almost worse to have Foggy worry.

See, Matt doesn’t like to make Foggy worry, as a general rule. He knows that his friend can’t help it, but he doesn’t want Foggy to think he’s helpless or needs protection because he really doesn’t. “You shouldn’t. Anyway, Spider-Man’s a friend of Daredevil’s so I guess my circle’s grown.”

“But you don’t know his identity?”

“Nope,” Matt keeps lying. It hurts coming out, but he can’t stop.

“Damn. Let me know if someone ever kidnaps you about it. Whoever’s been asking, they’re pretty relentless.”

Matt has a vague impression of who it might be asking, actually. Someone who likes control, someone who hires hands for his dirty work.

“Do you know Luke Cage?” Foggy asks.

Foggy’s pretty sure they crossed paths once as kids and has a photo of him in a grocery store with maybe-Luke-Cage is in the background. He’s a favourite of Foggy’s which means they will never meet.

“No.” Matt lies again.

  
  


They’re eating a late dinner (more like sneaking cookies at midnight, a relic of a habit they thought they stopped in college) when a swinging figure is spotted just out Foggy’s window. Matt hopes the ruse works.

“Why is Spider-Man wearing Daredevil’s suit?” Foggy asks.

Damn.

“Is he?” Matt asks, innocuously sipping his milk.

“Yeah. It’s a little uncanny, really. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Daredevil that flexible.”

Matt tries not to take offense to this because he is plenty flexible, _ thank you very much _ .

He’s so distracted in the moment that he hardly registers the armed villain calmly making his way into Foggy’s apartment. He does register Spider-Man making a sharp left turn to scramble towards them, though. And he does register Foggy realizing this.

“Get down!” Matt cries just as the bullets start flying through Foggy’s door.

“Hello? Anyone in there?” the man asks cheerfully into the room. Bullseye’s face lands on Foggy as he cowers under Matt. “Oh, perfect! You must be Franklin. I’m Bullseye, and I’m here to beat you absolutely  _ senseless _ .”

Spider-Man-as-Daredevil lands between them and makes a placating gesture. “Woah there, guy! Let’s take a moment to reconsider!”

“Daredevil? What a lovely surprise. It seems I don’t have to keep this one alive, then.” Bullseye lobs the empty gun at Foggy’s head.

“Think again!” Spider-Man quips as he shoots some web at the projectile. “Yoink!”

“Hm. Pity. This complicates things.” Bullseye reaches for his knives.

The pair start battling it out and Matt frantically slaps Foggy alert from his petrified state “Hey, we should get out of here.”

Foggy starts nodding before he speaks. “Y-yeah. Let’s do that.” Foggy reaches for Matt’s hand of all things and stands up to hop his way to the nearest exit.

“Oh, no you don’t! I have some  _ very _ specific orders,  _ Frank _ lin.” He catches the pair of them on some steel wiring that wraps around them a few times, tripping them up and giving Bullseye enough time to grab Foggy in a chokehold. “All right, boys, if you want to do anything to me, you’re going to have to get through him.”

Spider-Man webs for a knife at his feet and shucks it upwards, towards the ceiling, missing any and all living targets and scattering glass spectacularly onto the floor.

“You think you can get me in the dark?” Bullseye laughs, and turns around, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark. He tightens his hold on Foggy, who gasps for air.

Spider-Man shuffles around near the window, making a lot of noise and drawing the curtains closed. He gasps theatrically as he hands Matt his mask. “Woah, the real Daredevil? I didn’t think I’d be seeing you out tonight!”

“Shut up,” Daredevil says, by which he means, “Thank you.”

Two on one in the dark is a lot easier than one on one with two hostages, it turns out. Three on one if they count the time Foggy elbows Bullseye in the sack, sending him crumpling down onto the floor enough that Spider-Man can get him tied up for the NYPD.

“Everyone good here?” Spider-Man asks, calling 911 from Foggy’s phone.

“Mostly,” Foggy answers, still shaking and catching his breath. “Anyone keep track of Daredevil?”

Spider-Man takes a moment to consider it, making some noise around the apartment and taking Matt’s mask from him in the dark to store in the suit jacket. He opens the curtains again and glances downwards. He turns on the lamp beside him. “No, I guess he had to leave.” He grabs for Foggy’s phone on the coffee table and heads into the kitchenette to talk to the police.

“He never is one for goodbyes,” Foggy muses.

“Want to come to mine tonight? Or until this is all sorted,” Matt offers easily.

“I mean, if you don’t mind, that’d be awesome. Just until my apartment is sorted, though, right?

“Stay until you heal or until this all gets resolved. Whoever is sending these guys obviously knows where you live.”

Before Foggy can respond, Spider-Man walks back to them. “All right, I can cover for tonight, you’re good to go,” Spider-Man says, placing the phone back gently into Foggy’s hand. “Well, my man. I’d say I hope I don’t see you again like this, but this has been marginally more fun than any of my other antics as of late. Keep in touch, Nelson.”

Foggy stands up, still shaken. “Thanks, Spider-Man. Tell Daredevil thanks if you see him around.”

“Oh, I’m sure he knows. Careful of the broken glass and get in safe.”

The pair get ushered out with a quick quip as soon as Foggy packs some clothes and hops onto his wheelchair.

“Wow, are all vigilantes this flirtatious? Spider-Man just winked at me.” Foggy comments as soon as he’s dressed and out the door. He tries to wheel himself towards the elevator, but the hospital loans aren’t exactly top of the line for self-mobility. Matt takes over for him, settling Foggy’s bag and crutches down on his lap.

“Was Daredevil flirtatious?” Matt inquires meaningfully.

“Not like, overtly, or anything. But I just get the sense that he might be open if anyone mentions it.” Foggy shrugs.

Matt mulls it over. It’s not an entirely wrong assessment, of course, but Matt hadn’t exactly been doing it consciously. He makes a note to be more careful about it next time.

“And Spider-Man?”

Foggy bobs his head from side to side consideringly. “Well, maybe he’s just extroverted, but there’s something about his confidence that’s a little mesmerizing.”

Matt would have to deconstruct the jealousy later. It’s not appropriate at the moment. “Would you go for it?” It’s a friendly enough question. The kind of thing people say to their best friends.

“Well, at this point, I’m like 86% sure you’re dating him, so, no. I’m not sure if I would go for Spider-Man,” Foggy says.

Matt sputters. How he has managed a secret identity is beyond him at this point. “I’m not dating Spider-Man.”

“So he’s single?” Foggy teases. The light is entering his voice again. Warmth.

Matt wracks his brain. “I’m not entirely sure of that either.” It’s a truth. It’ll also stop Foggy from pursuing something. Matt knows he’s being selfish, but Matt is just going to go ahead and let himself have this one.

“Oh, well. Daredevil has a nicer ass anyway.”

Matt smirks a little at that one. Just a little. He’s still a little high on adrenaline and Foggy being alive, so he will let his hammering heart find some small joy. “Does he?”

“Yeah. You have no idea, man. Spidey has really nice arms, sure. But Daredevil looks like he runs fifty miles a day. Listen, don’t tell either of them I said any of this because I get that they’re your friends, but damn, heroism really does good things to the body.”

“Mum’s the word,” Matt promises.

Matt graciously helps Foggy into a cab and then to his humble abode with a vigour that hasn’t existed in years.

No one’s the wiser if Matt times his change into sweats just so that Foggy can get a glimpse of an ass he apparently enjoys. It’s casual. It’s friendly. He justifies it because it’d be weirder if Matt asked to leave the room just to change in front of his best friend. If he relishes Foggy’s heated blush a little too much, it’s between him and God. And Matt is fully willing to fight God on this issue.

They part ways for the night. Matt insists on taking the couch, because even he won’t put a healing man on a cheap futon. He lets himself revel in the feeling of being at home with Foggy to liven things up.

He boils over by 2am when he feels Foggy asleep.

He hears them on the roof, some old teammates of his. So he climbs upward.

“Hey, it’s Matt!” Deadpool greets, energetic as ever, as Matt makes his way up to the roof access. It’s been a while. “How’s it going?” Matt braces himself.

“Hey, guys.”

“Wow, you look so tuckered!” Deadpool exclaims. “And that’s not just me saying so the audience reading this has context for your emotional and physical state right now.”

“Missed you, too, Wade,” Matt sighs as he sits down against the wind. He takes a moment to take in the city around him, the relative silence of the night.

“Is it bad I kind of feel a little miffed that I’m the first masked person you’ve called by first name up to this point? What is it? My secret identity not secret enough for you?”

“What are you talking about? What are you  _ ever _ talking about?” Matt wails, pained. He leans back. This whole rooming with Foggy thing _ has  _ been entirely exhausting. Only two weeks to go.

“Are you not having a restful sabbatical?” Spider-Man asks, settling down to his right.

“Is it girl troubles?” Deadpool sits at his other side. Spider-Man webs him in the face.

“Is it Foggy?” Spider-Man offers.

“Oh, it’s boy troubles.” Deadpool nods understandingly and peels off his mask to start picking at the sticky fibres.

“It’s not like that,” Matt explains. “I just want to protect him, but whoever’s after him is pretty adamant. And I can’t do a thing out of the mask because he can’t know I’m Daredevil.”

“Lamentful,” agrees Deadpool. “Have you tried telling him how you feel?”

“The point of it is the secrecy,” Matt points out, pouting. “Why’d you bring him along?” he addresses Spider-Man.

“Well, he was also hired to get Foggy, but I’ve been talking him out of it. But he does seem to agree on the whole honesty point. Kudos, Wade, I’m proud of you.”

“Oh, no. I don’t think Matt’s ready to tell him  _ everything _ . I was suggesting he tell Foggy about wanting to bone. You do want to boink him, right?”

“No comment.” Matt furrows his brows. Just how obvious _ is _ he?

Spider-Man shakes his head. “Listen, buddy. At the end of the day, he’s a friend, right? Maybe he would care that you’re flinging yourself into danger every other night,” Spider-Man suggests sensibly.

“Or, maybe it’s better to keep it from him forever. He’ll be less stressed not knowing about your afterhours. Unfortunately, the secret will wear between you like jagged metal and eventually you will hit a snag. Whatever floats your boat.”

Matt balks. “You guys don’t  _ get _ it. Foggy’s too good for any of this. Given the choice he’d leave. He didn’t take it well last time, either.” Matt is certain. Well, very nearly certain. But even a sliver of a chance feels like too much of a gamble.

“Yikes. So you’d rather keep him close under false pretenses?” Deadpool steamrolls over the arguments.

“Just let me think through it,” Matt broods.

“On your own time, but you know what you should do,” Spider-Man tells him.

“Yeah.” Deadpool agrees. “Foggy. You should do him.”

“So now we know what the bad idea is,” Spider-Man concludes, getting up and dusting his knees. “You’re a smart guy, Matt. I believe in you. Have fun, stay safe.”

“Use protection,” Deadpool interjects, earning him a punch from Spider-Man.

“Actually that one’s not terrible advice,” Spider-Man admits.

“Well, Matthew. I’ve done all I could. Don’t screw this one up,” Deadpool says sagely.

“You haven’t done anything,” Matt argues, scowling. “All you’ve done is told me to be way too forward with a guy I’ve known way too long.”

“But I’ve told you to do it lovingly because this work’s going to have a T rating. Now, it’s probably not the same as in the movies, but I think we only get one real f-bomb, use it wisely.”

“Well, if all goes well, f-ing's gonna happen more than once.” Matt comments as he stands back up as well.

“There’s that boyish Murdock smirk. Go get ‘em, tiger.” Spider-Man hands Matt his old gym bag and punches him reassuringly on the arm. Spider-Man turns to leave and gesticulates forcefully towards Deadpool who gesticulates back and turns around.

“Good luck,” he hears before he feels the pair of them leave into the night.

Matt pulls out his mask, feels the material between his fingers. He puts it on before stalking back downstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

“Daredevil?” Foggy asks through the darkness as the vigilante climbs in through his own window. Foggy’s awake but in bed, and he sits up to face the late night visitor.

“Mr. Nelson! Hi!” he answers, remembering himself and standing rigidly by the entrance. With this face, he’s practically a stranger to his own best friend. Awkwardly, he asks, “How are your bones?” and cringes at himself. Despite the body armour, Daredevil is all nerves and eggshells.

Foggy, miraculously, laughs. “They’re on track for a decent recovery,” he answers, heart a jazz beat in the quiet room. “How’s the whole punching criminals thing going?” The joking tone never leaves Foggy’s voice.

“Well, it’s going.” Emboldened, Daredevil gets closer and stops beside his own bed. He stands in his own bedroom, scratching at his head and feeling out of place. He’s just a man, in front of another man, trying to tell him that he’s a lawyer by day and a superpowered vigilante by night. And they happen to be best friends and attracted to each other at the very least. Not a complex situation at all.

“Um. Thanks for saving my life just now. I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly,” Foggy cuts through the thoughts. Daredevil nods in acknowledgement. “Any progress on the case?”

He shakes his head. The thing is, he hadn’t really had time to pursue it. Regardless, Daredevil isn’t here for business. “A few ideas, but nothing I can narrow down too much yet. Don’t worry. I’ll get you safe soon.”

"Thanks. I trust you,” Foggy assures him. Daredevil smiles. "Actually, Matt's just in the other room if you want to check up on him as well."

The Devil panics a little. "No!" he cries and scrambles for a reasonable cover. "Don't wake him. He's probably tired," he tries to explain.

Foggy breathes appraisingly. "Okay. Sure." Foggy waits. He waits so long that he coughs a little just to fill the silence. Daredevil just stands in front of him, immobile and unable to form words. "Is there anything else you wanted?" Foggy asks.

"No, I was just checking up on you," Daredevil says before he can think better of it. He still can’t move.

"But not on Matt?"

"He can take care of himself," he waves off.

Foggy scoffs. "And I can't?"

"Of course you can,” Daredevil says, mentally berating himself. How long does it take to introduce himself to his best friend? “You're just… what did you say last time? Endlessly fascinating." The words still don’t come out. He walks a little closer to the bed, not sitting down so as not to make Foggy uncomfortable. The ship has probably long since passed, but there's no sense in exacerbating the situation.

Foggy laughs and doesn’t inch away. It's progress, but only in the way everything is technically progress. “Are you sure? I can’t cook or knit. I like houseplants and kittens. I once had a gerbil that my mother named after my late grandmother that I got way too attached to. I’m very average. I'm just a low prestige New York lawyer, Daredevil. There are thousands of me around."

"Not _ you, _specifically. You're one of a kind, Mr. Nelson." Daredevil doesn't miss the way the title affects Foggy. Unconsciously, he files away the information for later use.

"Exactly what about me fascinates you?"

"Everything," Daredevil sighs. That part is true. He takes a chance by stepping forward, and Foggy still doesn't move away. He almost leans into Daredevil's hand as it brushes away some of Foggy's hair. "Your loyalty, your perseverance, your bravery. Your _ conviction_. You’re what’s noble in the world and you’re like this even when you’re surrounded by all this rot in the city. Fascinating." Yes, he takes a few moments to gush. It’s fine, though, because Foggy blushes under his fingers.

He also takes Daredevil’s hand and strokes it gently, fingers unlaced. Like the world’s most tender handshake. It sends a tingle of electricity down Daredevil’s back. He moves even closer, resting a knee on the bed by Foggy’s waist.

"Have you met Matt? He's more _ everything _ than I am. _ He's _ interesting. I'm just, well, foggy in comparison."

Daredevil snorts at the inaccuracy. "No, Matt's just Catholic. He's not interesting, he's tortured at most."

"Hey, that's my best friend you're talking about," Foggy says halfheartedly. Their faces are close now. Daredevil feels the wetness of Foggy's tongue as it darts out for a second, just to moisturize his lips. He's only a few inches away. Vaguely, Matt knows that whatever’s happening is a bad idea. At the forefront of his mind is Foggy’s face, just a whisper away.

"Regardless, he's familiar. I'm interested in _ you _."

"Yeah? What do you want to know?" Foggy leans in, and then Daredevil remembers what he’s supposed to be doing.

Honesty. Foggy would hate him if he knew what’s under the mask.

Daredevil shrugs, begrudgingly dissolving the tension between them and sitting on the bed properly. "I don't know. Watch any good movies recently?"

Foggy bursts out laughing. The air is lighter for it. The city stills. "No, all the movies I've seen recently are old Disney animations."

"Are you implying those aren't good?" He asks in mock offense. This is how he preserves a friendship.

"No, it's just, they aren't interesting to talk about. Especially considering who I'm talking to."

He blushes. "Aw, shucks. I'm just your local crime fighter in tights. Dime a dozen, let me tell you."

Foggy laughs again, and all is right with the world. “You’re amazing.”

Daredevil beams for a solid eternity before he musters the will to talk again. "So what do _ you _ want to know?" he asks.

Foggy thinks for a moment. "Why are you in sweats?"

"Spider-Man has my suit.”

The conversation is as easy as every other time they've talked. They're best friends. Daredevil knows Foggy's humour. He's had years to mold himself to it.

"Ah, we should be a little quieter. Matt's just in the other room," Foggy remembers, willing his breath to cool from the laughter.

Daredevil's laughter dies down a little, too, because he’d almost forgot he's supposed to play a stranger.

Foggy continues. "Actually, he's probably awake. He has crazy sensitive ears. I can go get him, if you want to chat for a bit." Foggy moves away from him and reaches over the bed to grab one of his crutches.

He panics. And Daredevil has a history of not really thinking things through when he panics. He just knows that Foggy can't find out about him _ like this _. Especially not when he and Daredevil had been getting along so well. So he catches Foggy and assaults him a little. With his lips.

For a confused second, Foggy doesn't do anything. Then, he kisses back.

Then, the yanks himself away from under the Devil.

"Sorry, I should have asked," Daredevil apologizes as he gets off of his best friend, who he had just forced into an uncomfortable position just because he's a coward and can't come out about half of his entire life.

Foggy pauses dumbly. "Sorry, I, um. I can't."

He knows what rejection is. It's okay. Foggy isn’t even talking to _ Matt _ right now. "That's okay. Sorry about all that. I'll just fling myself out the window now."

"No, it's not that I wouldn't have said yes, it's just, we're on Matt's bed and he's just outside. It feels weird. Visit me some other time?"

Which is not the worst outcome. He can work with that. He can wait. He's a pro at waiting.

But then again, Foggy isn’t talking to _ Matt _ . He would have said yes to not-_Matt _.

Involuntarily, he reaches out again. This time, to hold Foggy's hand. "Later, then." It’s loaded with a lot.

"Later," Foggy confirms, shaking the Daredevil's hand like a business deal. The masked man gets up to leave, but the hand on his doesn't loosen. "One more kiss?"

The Daredevil obliges gladly, guiltily. In the back of his mind, he feels the oncoming disaster. More pressingly, he feels Foggy's tongue slip in.

"You're pretty good at that," the Devil comments as he pulls away. He keeps smiling at Foggy (he can’t seem to stop smiling) as he walks backward until he has one leg out the window. "Later," he promises, and he's climbing back onto the roof. He pulls the mask off, finally, and relishes in the wind on the roof, the coolness of the night, of freedom. Just for a few, brief moments, though.

He lets himself cool off a little, staving off the catastrophic scenario building in his mind. He doesn't need to be told that this won't end well. He knows it won't, but he's going to enjoy it as much as possible until then because he’s a brat like that.

When Foggy's breathing slows enough, he climbs back onto his couch and he sleeps. He's not tired, but he wills himself into it. He can talk to Foggy again in a few hours.

-

Foggy's up and making noises in the kitchen when Matt finally stirs awake. Foggy's absent humming is the first sound Matt registers. Then, the sizzling bacon.

"You're in a good mood," Matt observes as he sits up. He rubs at the sleep from his eyes. "Have anything to do with your late-night visitor?" God, shut up, Matt.

Foggy stops. The bacon sizzles on. "Oh, sorry. Did you hear that?"

"Yeah, you're not very subtle." Never mind the fact that Matt was in the room with Foggy. Never mind that he can hear Foggy breathing from halfway across the city.

"Okay, yeah. Daredevil and I are probably friends by now."

"Oh?" He asks leadingly.

"Yeah, he's kind of ridiculous." He hears affection in Foggy's voice. It makes Matt smile, in turn. "Hey, Matt. I'm going to tell you something and you're going to have to promise not to freak out."

"Yeah?"

"Daredevil kissed me last night," Foggy says giddily.

"Why would I freak out about that?" Matt asks. His head is halfway to Mars and he can't bring it down, no matter how hard he tries to focus on anything else but his friend, in his home, cooking something for him.

"Because I don't even know his name. Because we've met all of, like, three times, two of which were when my life was in danger. Because he has a hobby hitting people in the face," he lists. "I don't know. Could be a lot of reasons. You always get pissy when I kiss people." Foggy shrugs it off and plates the greasy meat on top of some cooked eggs.

It's probably not an unfair assessment. But in Matt's defense, Foggy has pretty terrible taste in dating partners. So instead of refuting it, Matt just asks, "Is he dreamy?"

"I wouldn't know. He always has that mask on."

Matt blushes, because, well, yeah, of course. "But you're happy he kissed you?" Matt asks, grappling for reassurance. God, he's pathetic.

"Well, yeah. It's an interesting story, right? My weird stalker turns out to be a hero who happens to be kind of nice and willing to kiss boring civilians like me." Foggy shrugs as he pulls some toast out of the toaster oven.

"Foggy, I'm sure that's not-"

"Yeah, I didn't mean to make him sound so promiscuous and easy, and I'm sure he's a good guy. He's a hero for God's sake. It's just all a little 'swooning damsel' of me, don't you think?"

"I'm sure he doesn't see it like that. Maybe he just likes you?"

Matthew tells himself to shut up. He doesn't think it works. It never works.

"Yeah, I guess you're friends with him. What sort of person do _ you _ think he is?" 

Matt freezes and sweats under his collar. How is he okay bleeding out in trash cans but incompetent when talking to his own best friend?

"He's challenging," Matt admits, slowly. He has no clue what he's doing. "A little bit slutty, probably. He's not the type to take advantage of a situation or anything, though. And he's definitely not seeing anyone else right now." He adds that last bit because he thinks it's important for Foggy to know.

"Are you sure? If he's kissing me, I don't think he's particularly picky."

Matt frowns. A comment like that is objectively wrong and offensive. Matt feels it like a personal attack. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, I don't know if you've ever met me, but I'm hardly the most exciting person to be around," Foggy points out, finally sitting at the table with a halfway elaborate breakfast in front of him. "Got you breakfast, by the way. Toast, parfait, bacon and eggs. Cutlery's beside the plate."

"I resent that. You're the type of person to have late night rendezvous with superheroes, so you're plenty interesting."

Foggy snorts. "Sure. Thanks, buddy. Isn't it weird, though? We're just some random lawyers that happened to be somewhere at some time and now we're expanding our circle by hanging out with superpowered folk?"

"It is a little thrilling," Matt comments. "But they're just people at the end of the day, and so are you. There doesn't have to be anything weird about it."

Foggy chews his food slowly, considering the information. "Perhaps," he agrees. "But it's also a little insane. What makes a person consider doing that sort of thing, you know?"

"Maybe he just didn't like the idea of people suffering because people are terrible sometimes." Matt picks at his eggs.

Foggy nods. "Yeah, I can understand that."

"Can you?" Matt shoots up, listening very hard to Foggy's body.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm not making pennies just because you've sweet talked me into giving up morning danishes. I do also care, Matt."

It's a tender moment and Matt wants to thank his friend, somehow. "Morning danishes?" He laughs instead.

"You don't get to make fun of me," Foggy whines, kicking Matt under the table with his good leg. "I once saw you drinking something _ green _."

"That's a smoothie, Foggy. Normal people have those for breakfast, sometimes. Kale is good for you."

"What on God's good earth is _ kale _?"

-

Somehow, word's gotten around that Matt is without a civilian partner at the firm for the foreseeable future and the more colorful residents of New York seem to see it as an open invite. Just this week, Captain America stopped by with some very secret documents, Jennifer Walters brought her giant cousin in for a consultation, and some kid named Samuel keeps popping up and asking for advice. Whatever happened to Matt's _ secret _ identity?

One day, Jessica Jones storms into the office in long, confident strides, nearly breaking the door off its hinges.

"Murdock. I need a lawyer," she says, barreling through to Matt's office.

"I have referrals," he frowns, trying to concentrate on the deposition in front of him.

"I need to ask Daredevil for a statement," she explains. "I've heard through the grapevine you guys are close."

Matt's face crumples even more in distaste. "No one knows who he is," he says emphatically. "But yeah, I'll get you that statement. Is it about last week?"

"Yeah," she confirms, deflating.

"I told you citizen's arrests are fraught with procedural justice problems," Matt bitched.

"Okay, fine. I'll remember it for next time. Just let me know what the best recourse is when you see a guy try to stab another guy when you happen to be strolling by."

"Well, it's not to make sure no witnesses are around and that the alleged stabber has worse injuries than you do."

"There was a witness. Daredevil," Jessica points out, placing a pile of police reports onto Matt’s desk and patting it squarely. Then, as suddenly as she came in, she turns to go. "Alright, thanks. Bye."

"Can you pay us this time?" Matt calls after her, immediately feeling awkward.

She shrugs and rummages through her pockets. "I have, like fifty bucks in my pocket I was gonna blow on booze, but here you go." She sets it down on his desk, but Matt doesn't reach for it.

"Jessica. I'm going to need real money this time." He sighs deeply because he knows he's going to have to be vulnerable. "We've been doing a lot of charitable labour, but Foggy got attacked twice and has some hospital bills to pay, and I'm sure money's been on his mind a while. I know it's an uncomfortable ask, but-"

"Is it that bad? How bad was Nelson hurt?" Jessica asks, suddenly an uncharacteristic mix of concerned and serious.

"Not to a mortal degree, but it's been a few X-rays and time off work."

She taps her fingers on the heavy wood desk and thinks for a few loud moments. "I'll see what I can do," she tells him. "Any idea on who's been ordering these attacks?"

Matt sighs and leans back in his seat. "I want to say it's Kingpin, like always, but I also feel like that's too easy. And hasn't he been too busy being mayor? He wouldn't be focusing on me right now."

"We'll keep an eye out. Tell Nelson I said hi."

"He doesn't even know you. And you're never going to meet him. Also, stop coming here. No one's supposed to know about my night time hobbies. Foggy might overhear someday."

She watches him for a blank second. "He doesn't know?" she spits incredulously.

“He doesn’t.”

Jessica stares at him some more.

“I can feel you judging me.”

She shakes her head. “Good luck with that whole deal. It’s just, if I were to be someone’s partner, I’d be real pissed if I learned about a double life, no matter what context it’s in.”

Matt weighs in his mind, and disregards it promptly after. He dismisses her with a quiet, contemplative "Goodbye, Jessica," and she leaves, grumbling at him under her breath.

The thing is, well, Foggy kissed Daredevil. And Daredevil promised to see him again. And Matt, well. He's just Matt, stuck at work, in the other room.

One of these days, he's going to have come to terms with the fact that he might be a little bit in love with Foggy. Only a little bit. Not any more than is appropriate. Only to the point where if the opportunity presented itself, he's willing to give it a shot, and maybe the opportunity did present itself. It's a high risk high reward situation, where the fallout would be sadness forever but also could, potentially, be that Foggy accepts all parts of him and maybe he'll get to come home to his best friend all the time at the end of it.

But it's not a big deal. He'll think it over later. He's already made some choices and he's not prepared to deal with them yet.

-

The day ends like many others, and Matt feels antsy and only halfway accomplished. He itches to go out again. He can track four bodies moving in the skies, on their own adventures doing their part for the city and Matt isn't a part of it. He can hear screaming and clinking metal and fear all over him, beckoning him, too.

He can also track the path of his twenty minute walk back home. He can vaguely hear Foggy moving around the kitchen and putting some things in a pot. There are layers and layers of smells to weave through, but he smells the caramelizing sweet potatoes nonetheless and he lets himself revel in the domestic scene of it. He thinks about the potential normalcy. He think about Foggy, moving around despite his healing bones. He thinks about supporting him through it in a way he only can if he's not otherwise occupied.

Then, he catches something unfamiliar in his building. He's too far to count the bodies, but they're approaching his apartment. A large mass of people that he can't decipher amidst all the other sensory information available to him. With a sinking feeling, he comes to understand that they're headed to his apartment, to Foggy. Matt starts walking faster. There's no way to make it there in time, and he doesn't have any equipment on him.

He worries so much at the space twenty minutes in front of him that he doesn't register the blunt object aimed at him until it hits him on the back of the head.


	5. Chapter 5

When Matt slips back into the waking world, he feels seasick. There's a gentle rocking to the small boat he's on. It's cool in the night, the floors are spotless and there are armed guards lining the walls. In front of him is the Purple Man, who seems to notice Matt's consciousness. Matt takes one whiff and feels the mind control pheromones start to hit. Oh, bother.

"Hello, Matthew," he greets, polishing a blunt instrument of some sort. He sets it down to let Matt speak.

"It’s been a while," Matt grits out with as much Irish Catholic grace as he can muster. "How have you been?"

"I’ve been absolutely swell. It’s come to my attention that I’ve been lacking ambition as of late, but I have a plan and I think we can strike some sort of deal. I need something from you."

"Have you been hired to find out about Daredevil, too?"

"God, no. I wouldn't go for a job like that. It's demeaning," the Purple Man dismisses. He circles Matt, a shark, a vulture. “Let’s not forget you owe me a favour, eh? I’m in need of all those proper superhero folk that hang around you all the time.”

"Why?" Matt spits, reminiscing less than fondly about the time the Purple Man let everyone forget about his alter ego. The memory comes in like a flood, and he can’t seem not to dislodge it from the forefront of his mind.

The other man hums as he looms. "It's just best to have certain people on our side, is it not?"

"I agree. Which is why I won’t be bringing them to you.” He struggles against his restraints, but the ropes are tight. He’d been tied while unconscious, and he’s losing circulation to his hands.

The man pauses for effect. “Is that so?” Matt can hear his smirk and gets the battling urge.

Matt spits on the Purple Man’s face and hopes it comes across.

“I sincerely wish you hadn’t done that,” he says, prim as ever, laced with an unknowable rage.

“What are you going to do about it?” Matt taunts like an idiot.

He receives a punch to the face, that’s what. The table of assorted weapons shakes beside them with the force of the rocking boat as Matt topples backward and lands heavily on his back. The Purple Man wipes his hand on a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. Harshly, he rights the chair with Matt still attached to it and, gingerly, he wipes at Matt’s split brow before punching him again. This time, in the chest.

“You’re going to bring your little hero friends to me. That’s final. Understand?” he orders slowly. “If you don’t bring them to Pier 15 by midnight tomorrow, you’re going to get the inexplicable urge to destroy that chubby little partner of yours and you’re going to shoot him right between those baby blues of his.” The Purple Man reaches for a small revolver from the table and slips it into Matt’s pants.

Matt hates being influenced like this, but God, there’s nothing he would like more than to bring a bunch of his buddies riverside. It’s beautiful here. They’d be able to help him out of the situation. It’s the best and most logical course of action to take, to call them to the pier. They could make a day of it.

“Yes, sir,” Matt complies. The thing is, he has the brain of a lawyer, and it rationalizes things for him like a computer that looks for loopholes. He could just warn them about the threat. They could all get ice cream afterwards.

"Good boy," the other man says, patting his hair sweetly. "Now, be honest. Aren't you glad not to be antagonizing me anymore?"

Matt thinks for a second. Honesty. He’s had practice with twisting honesty, has he not? "It certainly is _easier_ to acquiesce," he states.

Before Matt can say anything about it, the Purple Man picks up the blunt instrument and Matt gets hit in the head again.

-

"Woah, is that guy dead?" a child asks in the distance as Matt opens his eyes. It’s midday, judging by the day’s heat, but it has been uncommonly hot recently; it could also be morning. It smells terrible. Sweat and mold and chemical hazards. Oh, he’s lying down on a garbage bag. Perfect.

“No, I’m not dead,” Matt answers, trying to get his bearings. He gets up from the pile of trash and rubs at the back of his head.“But I am wondering what time it is.”

“About 1pm,” the child’s mother says, checking her phone. “Do you need help, sir?”

“No, no. I’m used to it,” Matt assures her, honestly. “I do have really low blood sugar right now, though. Maybe a concussion.” He starts heading home with a vague wave at her direction. He doesn't even have his cane or glasses with him.

“Are you okay?” the child asks again, calling after Matt as he leaves towards the more familiar corners of the city.

“No, but I’ll be better when I get home.”

_ Home _. Suddenly he remembers the mysterious figures headed to Foggy and he makes a run for it.

As soon as he turns the lock, he’s met with a hobbling figure lunging itself at him and catching him in a soul-quenching embrace. Matt lets it seep into the core of his being, and he melts.

“Jesus Christ, you smell awful,” Foggy cries, halfway between hysterical laughter and sobbing. He doesn’t let go, though, and all of his weight rests on Matt.

“I’ll shower,” Matt says quickly, embarrassed.

“Tell me what happened first. Is that dried blood in your hair?” Foggy worries at him and Matt can’t find the energy to bat his hands away as he leads Matt to the couch and examines him for injury.

“I had a run in with Purple Man,” he answers without thinking. “Yes, it’s probably dried blood. I also woke up in an alley on some garbage bags.”

“What did he want?” Foggy asks, the concern winding his voice up tightly.

“He’s caught wind that our firm is connected to some superhero types. I think he’s looking to control some minds. I have to tell them. Warn them or something.” Still, Matt waits patiently for Foggy to process all this truth.

“That’s horrible! Matt, we have to _ do _ something!”

“We will.”

“How are you not freaking out?! The Purple Man _ controls minds _!” Foggy panics, shaking his good leg and tapping his fingers on his knees.

“I mean, it’s not the craziest thing that’s happened to me,” Matt shrugs. “One time, the Jester almost did me in with a yo-yo.”

Foggy reaches over to Matt’s shoulders, maybe to shake him, but stops short. “When was this?! You can tell me when you’re in danger! You have to know that!”

“I know," Matt says, too fondly. "I lo-” Matt starts. Wait, no, he knows he should be honest. It’s the decent thing. It’s just, Foggy isn’t ready to hear this particular truth. “I love having you around.” He softens the sentiment, instead. It’s still true, in every sense.

Foggy pauses to stare at him. “You’re being very pliant right now, and I’m a little concerned it’s due to the head damage,” Foggy confesses. He holds up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he tries to joke.

“Three,” Matt answers easily.

“Wait-how?” Foggy asks. Matt opens his mouth but Foggy saves him from himself. “Lucky guess, wow, Matt. But seriously, you should rest. Also, you really do stink, so I’m gonna let you take your shower while I let Captain America know about the whole Purple Man situation. And then _ I’m _ going to shower because I hugged you, so now I stink, too.”

“I think you smell nice,” Matt admits, because he’s gotten so used to the garbage and sweat on his way over that it doesn’t faze him anymore. Foggy just smells like Foggy. “Also, I wouldn’t mind hopping into the shower together,” Matt says without being able to stop himself. Foggy remains silent.

Matt cringes and scrambles away from the couch. “I mean, it’s more efficient that way. And it’s not like I’d be able to see you or anything. So _ I _wouldn’t mind. Clearly, you would, so it’s ill advised. Purple Man told me to be honest, so now I can’t stop. Just don’t ask me things you don’t want an answer to and we’ll be fine until this spell wears off.” Matt slinks off to the bathroom to avoid the situation and turns on the water before turning back around, coming to a different sort of realization.

“Did you just say you’re going to call Captain America?”

Foggy pauses, and Matt can tell he’s smiling. “Yep. Met him yesterday,” Foggy answers in poorly veiled excitement. “Actually, a lot of Daredevil’s friends have been appearing around me. I feel a little famous.”

“Any particular reason for the visit?” Matt worries. He pulls out the gun from his his pants and puts it next to the sink. He keeps the door open as he showers. It’s his house, anyway.

"Actually, they want us to represent them. They got our contact information from Jessica Jones, of all people, and the Avengers offered the firm a healthy advance to keep mum about the details to the media," Foggy buzzes with exuberance. "We’ll be working with Jen Walters, who’s an attorney around these parts. She’s also, like, 7 feet tall and green so she might be better versed in superhero laws than we are, but she seems happy to start delegating some work to us. It looks like we might actually be able to afford AC now."

"That's great," Matt chokes out, emotional under the stream of hot water. Is this friendship?

"Yeah, it's pretty crazy,” Foggy agrees. “I have to thank Daredevil, somehow. I just know he’s behind it. I might actually be able to swing partnering with the guy.” Matt imagines a good future where that’s true and yearns. Not yet, though. It’s not the time yet. “Don't waste all the hot water," Foggy warns flippantly, and Matt starts shampooing his hair.

Foggy respects Matt's request not to ask any questions for the rest of the night. They part ways early to let Matt rest after his kidnapping and torture, and Foggy goes to sleep early.

Matt figures that Foggy’s probably getting bored. Foggy never could be cooped up for long. He’s too social, too helpful. Matt knows that his best friend is too polite to say anything, but Foggy would probably give up butter for the next month just to be outside and working in earnest again. Even if he did get to meet Captain America.

That night he decides he owes Foggy a visit as his alter ego. He’s still influenced by the spell, but it’s wearing thinner by the hour, and the loopholes he’s finding to answer inquiries are getting wider and wider. It should be fine. Foggy needs to vent, and he wants to make sure Foggy knows he’s not just going to leave them hanging.

He finds the gym bag that he had stored in a decorative suitcase in his living room and sneaks back into his bedroom. God, he had missed his bedroom. Moreso now because Foggy had been living in it for a while. He feels a little ridiculous and guilty to be holed up in his house instead of helping folks outside. He can vaguely hear the fleet as they head towards the pier, and Matt's staying in with his buddy. And he feels guilty for keeping his face hidden from his own best friend. He weighs them in his mind, and decides he’s going to be selfish for just a while longer.

He can handle this. The spell is wearing off, and Foggy deserves to know where he stands with Daredevil. And maybe Matt needs to be with Foggy in a different context right now. One where kissing isn’t completely off the table. He can handle this.

Except as soon as Foggy asks him where he's been with a casual greeting, Daredevil feels the compulsion towards honesty again. Oh, well. Too late to go back now.

“Around,” he answers in what he hopes appears as aloof coolness, skirting around the truth life his life depends on it. “Close.”

“Alright, stay mysterious,” Foggy jokes, but Daredevil hears the disappointed warble to his voice. He’s coming across cold, and Foggy values vulnerability.

“How have you been?” he asks instead, sitting down at the edge of the bed. He senses that Foggy’s distressed, so he reaches around to stroke Foggy’s cast, something he wouldn’t think twice about as Matt. He does this as a form of comfort, he does it to check that the bone is healing correctly. A familiar gesture, but only in a different face. He whips his hand away when he realizes who he is right now. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. We’ve kissed, remember? I think we’re at least at leg touching,” Foggy quips. He laughs, something Matt realizes he hasn’t heard much in a while and aches at the thought.

“I do. I don’t think I can ever forget that,” Daredevil smirks. Too honest. Hopefully charming, though.

“That bad, huh?” Foggy laughs again, and maybe it veers off a little into giggle territory, but Foggy has always been a clumsy flirt. It’s a bright sound. Daredevil wants to drown in it. He wants to be the person who elicits it all the time.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry. Shouldn’t have attacked you like that,” Daredevil says shyly. Matt cringes at his own indecencies all the time, and now Daredevil is social enough to have some indecencies as well. He’s a bit of a creep if he gets down to it. Whoops.

“No, it’s fine,” Foggy assures, still happy. “More than fine, actually. Like I said, you’re just really interesting.” He leans forward and inches his hand closer Daredevil’s.

He tracks the movement on the sheets, but he’s still a little surprised when he feels the other man’s fingers on his, all in soft touches. Then, Foggy laces their pinkies together. Even through the gloves, Daredevil feels the touch, the certainty in it. He imagines the supple give of his best friend’s finger, flesh on flesh, small and vulnerable and real. It’s tender and soft and smoother than anything Matt’s ever experienced. Is _ this _ what it’s like to have Foggy Nelson’s attention? Because Matt feels breathless already.

“Because I’m a vigilante type?” Daredevil asks, leaning in. Foggy chuckles.

“Because you feel familiar. I’ve met you all of three times and I feel so safe with you. I don’t know. That sounds too cheesy. Of course I feel safe with you, you saved my life.”

“I’m not a fan of that sort of thinking,” Daredevil confesses. “We’re just two people, Mr. Nelson,” he whispers into Foggy’s mouth.

“_ Mr. Nelson _,” he mocks lightly. “I don’t know if anyone else calls me that.” Foggy chuckles again, a lazy breath that hits Matt’s face and envelops him.

“I can stop, if you want.”

“Don’t you dare.”

They come together again, and they spend eternities in each other's mouths.

“Any qualms this time around?” Daredevil asks when Foggy’s hand travels to the hem of his shirt.

“Matt’s asleep, right? You’d be able to tell?” Foggy breathes, still attached to Daredevil’s mouth.

“Yes,” Daredevil answers vaguely, only in response to the latter question. Still not lying.

“I’ve been here for nearly three weeks. I need some adrenaline.” Foggy rips right out of his own shirt and the heat of nudity fills the air.

“Alright,” Daredevil blushes. He pulls off his gloves and prods at Foggy’s chest. “How are the ribs holding up?”

Foggy scoffs. “Decent enough to do what we’re about to do.” He reaches for Daredevil’s mask but a gentle hand stops him. Foggy whimpers a disappointed noise and Daredevil stills.

“I’m not ready,” he says by way of apology.

“Okay,” Foggy responds. The hurt in his voice claws at Matt, but he really isn’t ready. He had failed Foggy so much, and he’s not ready to confront the dissolution of their friendship tonight.

They have a perfectly lovely time together despite the masks and secrecy and healing bones.

Later on, when they definitely should be sleeping, they start to actually have a conversation.

“So, you seem like you’ve been pretty keyed up,” Daredevil starts, leadingly.

Foggy nods into the pillow. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve been here for weeks. 80% of my conversations have been stilted business calls and emails and another 20% has been Matt. I mean, I love Matt, but…”

“But?” Daredevil prods, heart hammering.

“Well, firstly, I feel like I’m being a burden. He doesn’t deserve putting up with this whole situation all the time and the noble idiot gave up his bed for me,” Foggy explains to Matt’s surprise. It certainly didn’t feel that way to him. “That,” Foggy continues. “And it’s like I’m only seeing him all the time. I think I’m just envious, you know? He can be out in the world whenever he wants, but he refuses to let me work and he always seems too tired for me to ask if he wants to go out for a walk or something. I know it’s stupid, but that’s just how I feel, you know?”

“What do you mean?” It’s just Matt talking now. He just wants to make Foggy _ happy _ but he keeps messing it up.

“I mean, I know it’s worse on him. He’s giving up a bed for an entire month, and taking on most of the workload since I’m here. But I think he just cares way too much. He’s stubborn as a bull and he doesn’t get that I’m fine. I can help, you know?”

“Do you feel caged?” Matt understands this. He’s blind, for crying out loud. There were plenty of well-wishers in his youth that tried to be way too accommodating. Hell, even recently he can name a few instances where a stranger invaded his personal space without permission because they were being “helpful.”

“I feel coddled. I know he’s trying, but I know I can be doing more than what I’m doing now.”

Daredevil frowns at him. “Taking just a month off work when you haven’t taken a vacation in ten years isn’t unheard of,” Daredevil tells him.

“Then the same goes for Matt. I know logically, that it’s stupid of me to think but I can’t help feeling like it’s hypocritical of him to take care of me like this when he’s clearly not taking care of himself. I want him to sleep as much as possible. I want him to eat things he actually likes eating. I want him to dress warmer when it’s chilly out. I want him to remember umbrellas when the forecast says it’s going to rain. I want him to let me do things for him. He’s my best friend, you know? I’m not just going to sit on my ass because his hospitality lets me.”

"It’s not a burden,” Daredevil says, adamant. “You need to heal right now, and you’re worth a little caring for. I-he-Matt cares about you."

“How’d you figure that?”

Daredevil sighs. “Matt talks about you constantly.” Shamefully, it’s not a lie.

“God, I bet that gets annoying,” Foggy groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“Not for me,” Daredevil smiles. “I adore you.” 

He hadn’t meant to say it, but it’s in the air now in its uncomfortable candidity. Foggy laughs at him. “Cheese,” he chastises affectionately.

“I’m being honest, Mr. Nelson. You’re an absolute pleasure.”

“You have to say that. You’ve seen me naked.”

Daredevil bites his tongue at the unwitting set up. This would be a stupid way to come out. "Well, I’d better get going," he diverts.

Foggy nods understandingly. "I guess you're not much of a cuddler."

"I can be," Matt says, earnestly. Too much so. "Do you want me to be?"

Foggy thinks for a tense second. "Yeah,” he admits. “You’re a great listener. And it’s nice to be able to vent to someone without hurting their feelings. Third party advantages, you know?"

Daredevil hums, thinking about all the lies he’d been telling Foggy recently. He needs to keep his mouth _ shut _.

“Let’s keep chatting for a bit,” Foggy says invitingly. Enticingly, as he wraps an arm around Daredevil’s naked torso.

"I'm not great at pillow talk, though."

"No? That's fine. I probably talk enough for the both of us." Foggy yawns. Daredevil doesn't let himself get used to the proximity. "Oh, by the way. Did you tell Jessica Jones to help us out?”

"Yeah, I guess I did," Daredevil shrugs, not thinking much of it. It's the truth.

Foggy sighs beautifully. “Thank you. You just saved Nelson and Murdock a lot of headache. You’re my hero.”

And well, Daredevil couldn’t well come out with his identity _ now _ . Not when he’s Foggy’s _ hero _.

“Also, let me know if you ever run across Luke Cage. I want to meet him."

"I'd get jealous." It's honest, but his conviction to the truth is waning now. He feels the lies as they start to fester in his brain, unfettered now and allowed to roam, where they had been inaccessible beforehand. "I'm way cooler than him, anyway."

“You are,” Foggy agrees. And he kisses him.

Eventually, Foggy falls asleep and for the third time, Matt leaves the bedroom and goes to sleep just outside, on the cold and lonely couch. Even by the time he drifts off, he smells like Foggy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> truth serum shenanigans.... a new big bad... foggy's character development being stymied by matt's protection of the truth... foggy still hasn't met luke cage.... what will the idiot adventures hold next for our heroes?


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, a hot and cloudy Sunday morning, Matthew can’t help but feel more centred now that he’s not dealing with the Purple Man’s influence. He lets Foggy pour him coffee and make him a frankly divine mushroom omelette. He has the phantom feeling of Foggy’s hands on him, the sound of off-key whistling, the surprisingly healthy breakfast in front of him. Things are alright.

"Want to go somewhere today?" Matt asks. It's not cheating to use what he had learned yesterday to make Foggy happy now. Facts are public domain, according to a great body of intellectual property laws, and the fact is, Foggy wants to be let out from time to time. Logically, Matt knows he shouldn't have become so precious with his best friend, but he reasons that there are people after them right now. He’ll just have to guard Foggy harder.

Of course, Foggy responds with an enthusiastic "Yes!" and Matt panics and takes him to Sunday morning Mass because Matt's social circle is the diameter if a thimble.

Still, Foggy seems grateful, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when he's outside in the sticky-hot street. He takes in huge lungfuls of the polluted city air like he's having some ethereal experience. He bounces a little on his good foot as he makes his way down to the church. He waves at passersby a little too enthusiastically. Even on crutches, he has no trouble keeping up with Matt.

Matt entertains, for a second, the impression of a dog wagging its tail and asking very politely to be petted. Matt smiles at his friend, happy that he's so unabashedly happy.

Foggy has never been much of a Catholic, but he listens obediently to the sermon, too. He doesn't even nod off once, which is more than can be said about a fair share of the congregation.

"And we read in all these Psalms that God is there in times of need," the priest goes on. "And again and again in Isaiah. And in Job. And throughout the Gospels we come to understand the character of God. That He is love. He is healing. He is the force that drives the Christ to be gentle in all things, to express everything in _ love _ above all things. When you feel love, in everything and anything, I implore you to meditate on it, for it is all of God." It's a simple message, one that's accessible to many people, one that's vague but full of heart and comfort.

Inexplicably, Foggy reaches for Matt's hand and it sort of stays there through the service. Matt keeps his hand still for fear that moving would break the spell. They stay like that, absently holding hands until Matt has to get up to receive the sacrament.

Mass ends a little later, and people fill the hall with chatter and good cheer. As much good cheer as can be had in Hell's Kitchen, anyway. 

"Do my eyes deceive me, or has our Matthew finally settled down?" A nun jokes. She has a weathered but kind voice. "I see you've brought a _ friend _ with you." She emphasizes the word teasingly and Matt gapes.

Matt turns towards the sound. "Sister Maggie!" he greets, nervously. This could be a train wreck.

But the thing is, months ago, Daredevil had shown up, beaten and battered to the bone, and Sister Maggie had been the one to take care of him, head wound and all. She muttered the whole time under her breath in bitter incredulity, frowning at the state of her son.

"This is Foggy,” Matt says. “He's been my best friend and partner for the past few years."

"Years? And the first time you bring him here is when he looks about ready to meet the Maker Himself? Are you preparing for something?" The teasing lilt never dies through the scolding and she turns to Foggy. "I'm Sister Margaret. It's lovely to meet you."

They shake hands and exchange pleasantries. It's as nice a meeting as one can expect between friends and parents.

"Do you mind me asking how you ended up with a broken leg and all that nasty bruising?" She cuts straight to the point. Oh, good old Sister Maggie.

Foggy laughs with a shrug. "Oh, you know. I'm just a typical New Yorker dealing with all these villains and heroes around."

"Oh yes. I bet the Daredevil sure keeps you on your toes," Sister Maggie says with a stage whisper. Matt holds his breath.

"How'd you know about me and Daredevil?" Foggy falters a little, breath picking up.

Matt studies the pair of them and considers the situation. She takes a slow breath and sits the pair of them down on a pew. "Do you want to know a well kept secret here in Hell's Kitchen?" Maggie asks. Light. Oblivious. About to say something that Matt won't be able to explain away without some sort of fallout. "He's my son. I don't know if I'm supposed to say, but since you've been courting, I guess it's only fair you know."

"Courting?" Foggy sputters. "Has he said anything about me?"

"No, not before today," she muses ruefully. "But we've had an interesting relationship, my kid and I. I'm just glad we're getting better."

Matt's face twitches into a smile despite himself. He's glad, too. But he's also terrified about what's happening right now. He wonders how Foggy would make sense of the situation. He wonders what kind of calculations he's making in his head.

"Oh," Foggy says, unreadable. "Do you think he's serious about me?"

"Pretty serious," Maggie nods. Matt has to stop something. He shoots up from his seat and yanks Foggy along with him.

"Sorry, Sister, but Foggy and I have somewhere to go, and we have to be there now. Until next time! Bye, and thank you for the chat!"

He hurries the pair of them outside and onto the bench overlooking the sidewalk before the silence between them breaks.

"I'm sorry," Foggy tries. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry you had to find out this way."

"What are you talking about?" Matt asks, still short of breath trying to keep track of the truths that are out in the air.

"I slept with Daredevil last night."

He breathes out in relief and hopes it reads as exasperation. Matt can at least play this role. "In my bed?!" He asks, acting, and maybe overacting, incredulous. Foggy pauses. No, maybe scratch that, Matt isn't the best actor. How Foggy still hasn't found out is beyond him.

"How'd you find out?" Foggy sounds like he's pouting, but only a little upset.

"The walls are pretty thin, buddy. You've always been a bit of a screamer," Matt shrugs. He has to keep his stories in order. He should have taken notes.

Foggy groans into his hands, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry."

Matt sighs. The big secret isn't out just yet. He can keep it for later. He has control of that one, at least. He leans back into the bench and collects himself. People continue to chat around the church, some of them heading back home, some of them making a fuss about their lingering parents as they long to ditch their dress shoes and stockings. Matt and Foggy sit at the bench, just another pair of lingerers.

"I didn't know he was so serious about it, though. I didn't count on meeting his _ mom _ today. I don't even know what he _ looks _ like."

"That's uncharacteristically promiscuous of you," Matt says, instead of anything too telling about himself.

"Well, I know it's not the most gentlemanly thing I've done, but he won't even show me his face! You can't tell me that I was expected to know he wanted an actual _ relationship _, much less tell his mother about me!"

"No, I suppose that makes sense," Matt deflates. It seems obvious, now. What _ was _ Foggy supposed to make of a guy who puts out before telling him his name?

"And Matt, you don't know this, but he is incredibly hot. He's got actual _ abs _ , man. Do you know anyone in real life with _ abs _?"

Matt quirks a smile. Foggy thinks he's hot.

"But I guess I don't really know him, yet," Foggy sighs and continues to ramble. "What if I like him more once I get to know him? Maybe it's closing myself up too early to stop whatever's going on. Is this too quick? How fast do superheroes move? And don't make that into a terrible joke."

Matt closes his mouth and nods a little. If he could encourage Foggy to date Daredevil, how much of this counts as fraud? Deception? Impersonation would make this flat out illegal, but he's not impersonating the Daredevil. He's impersonating a person who isn't Matt. Does a null identity have weight? Is he morally okay for continuing to do this? No, Matt knows the answer, but he refuses to admit it. He fiddles at his cane antsily.

"So what now? Are you going to start dating Daredevil?" Matt asks expectantly. He doesn't know what he wants Foggy to say. If he says no, then he won't ever get to touch Foggy again. If he says yes, he'll have to avoid an even bigger problem the longer it goes on. But Matt Murdock is pretty impulsive and he knows which option sounds nicer in the short term, so maybe he does know exactly what he wants. And maybe, if Foggy gets to know both sides of him well enough, he'd be able to like them when they converge into one.

"Maybe."

It's as good an answer as any. Matt slumps.

They're heading back home attached to each other, taking a lazy stroll so Foggy can keep up. That's when Matt overhears it. On a rooftop, shuffling around some artillery, a sniper. No, _ the _Sniper. The merc tracks their movements and aims his big gun towards them.

"Okay, I found them," he says. "We only need one of them, right?" Through his earpiece, a voice comes out in static, too far and too small for Matt to make out clearly. "Copy. I'm on Murdock. Get ready to seize Nelson in T minus 20." He lowers himself to the gun and adjusts it in increments.

"Let's take the long way back," Matt suggests to Foggy, who remains painfully oblivious. "I'll get you a pastry." 

19.

He guides them into taking a sharp turn, hiding behind a building and a crowd.

18.

Foggy hobbles to follow. "Sure. Can we go to that place that puts extra pastry cream on everything?"

"Of course."

17.

The marksman holds his breath. They're going to be out of the cover in a few seconds.

16.

15.

14.

They're in an open park space now, and the Sniper readjust his aim. Matt knows the shortcuts, but they won't be safe until they make it to the other side of the courtyard and Foggy's still on crutches.

13.

12.

11.

They're only a few feet through, and Foggy is taking his precious time, musing about the different kinds of pastries that exist in the world.

10.

9.

Matt calculates the distance to the nearest tree, even. That could be decent cover for one of them at least. He'd have to do it in a way that won't freak Foggy out, though.

8.

7.

6.

5.

"Wow," he hears instead. Another familiar voice. Further on, but he can freely sprint towards the sniper.

4.

3.

"Talk about a deus ex machina."

2.

Deadpool lands heavily on the rooftop and the Sniper gasps in shock.

1.

A gun goes off and the Sniper shrieks.

Foggy turns towards the sound. "Wow, what do you think that was?"

Matt shrugs with relief, letting his nose guide him towards vanilla and custard. "No clue. It's the city, though. Hopefully the victim comes to us for representation."

"Cold, Murdock. Criminal law has made you numb," Foggy jokes.

The trouble is, Matt should probably be figuring out who keeps ordering these attacks on the pair of them. It's only a matter of time before the mess comes to Matt's own home and wreaks havoc there.

"I have to be out this evening," Matt tells him. How's that for a non-sequitur? "Don't wait up."

"Is it a girl?" Foggy asks, suspicious.

"Yes," he tries slowly. An easy explanation if there ever was one. Thanks, Foggy.

Foggy mumbles disappointedly. "How did you score a date? You've been stuck with me the entire time!" Foggy whines, but he doesn't press the issue. Foggy ends up paying for their èclairs and café and they sit down next to each other on the fancy coffee shop couch. Matt relaxes for a bit, reeling from almost dying just now.

When they get home, Foggy immediately settles down on the open futon and sighs happily. "Thanks for taking me out, today, Matty," he says gratefully, as if nothing is amiss. And that tone is perfect, right there. Matt promises to do everything he can to preserve that tone in Foggy's voice.

He starts watching the Princess Bride on Netflix while Matt gets dressed for other activities.

"God, can you imagine being Buttercup? This guy who's been saving you and flirting with you this whole time unveils himself and it turns out he's the guy you've been in love with forever?" Foggy sighs.

Matt cannot imagine himself anywhere in the vicinity of that scenario. He's certain Foggy doesn't even have a guy he's "been in love with forever," and if he does, it certainly wouldn't be _ Matt _. He dreads disappointing Foggy.

"Romantic," Matt comments lazily, exiting his bedroom. He stops by the door, taking his white cane off its hook and fishing for his keys in the bowl, but Foggy beckons him over.

"Dude, you can't go on a date like that. Your tie is all sloppy," he says. Of course it's sloppy. It's not a real date and Matt's going to yank it off the moment he's out of Foggy's sight.

Still, he lets Foggy adjust it for him for propriety's sake. Foggy's standing up, leaning on the arm rest to give him full manipulation of the tie. He really wants Matt to look nice. They're so close right now, and Foggy's hands are at his throat. If he just leans down, he could…

But he doesn't, because one wrong move from this close up, Foggy would see the bright red from just under the hopefully opaque black shirt he has on.

"You know, I'd say this red and black combo is a bit high school choir, but somehow you make it work," Foggy tells him, smoothing down the tie on his chest. He wonders if he even registers the zipper under it.

He feels ridiculous, wearing his battling suit under an actual smart suit and tie just to hide it from his friend. He just hopes he doesn't look too chunky.

"Alright, I'm heading out!" Matt calls over his shoulder and Foggy waves him off. As soon as he can, he ambles on over to the roof and shucks his outer layer, pulling on the mask and gloves he had hidden in his coat pocket.

He finds Deadpool singing to himself and eating Mexican food in an alleyway. He's reclined on a dumpster, petting a raccoon, also. Just another day.

"What's up, Wade?" Daredevil greets, broodingly.

"Hey, Matt. I was just enjoying some me-time, if you had any questions about what this was," he says shiftily.

"I didn't."

"Perfect. So, what brings you here?"

"The Sniper. Bullseye. You. There was someone else. I think it's all the same person behind it. It's finally time I get to the bottom of this."

"Really? We're over halfway through the story now. Why weren't you more proactive about this?" Deadpool scolds, righteous finger waving in the air.

"I've been busy."

"I mean, you could have just asked _ me _ earlier."

"_ You _ were too busy giving me awful advice," Daredevil pointed out lamely. No, he was too busy thinking about Foggy and avoiding Daredevil responsibilities. Too much to actually solve the case that threatens his life. So he's a bit of a procrastinator, what's new?

"Advice you didn't take?" Deadpool asks.

"Shut up. Take me to whoever hired you."

"Sure, sure. No complaints about the sex, then?"

"Wade, be serious," Daredevil pouts.

"Alright. Let's do this, then." Deadpool shoos the raccoon away, gets up and hands a half-eaten burrito to Daredevil, who promptly chucks it into the dumpster.

Just after 9pm, Deadpool leads him through a dingy basement. He recognizes the routine, despite being a different site. Secret button, secret city.

"Wow this place is riddled with mutants," Deadpool comments, taking in his surroundings. "When I got the address, this is not what I expected."

"Let's not make this a race war thing, okay? We're hardly the picture of anatomical typicality," Daredevil reminds him.

"Knock knock!" Deadpool chimes as he knocks on one of the doors. "I've got the Daredevil here, just as promised!"

There's a clamor inside, maybe some plates dropping, some magazines being knocked around. Surprisingly domestic for a villain scene.

"Karen! He's here!" An unfamiliar voice calls.

"Finally! It took him long enough," another voice says, scrambling out from one of the small rooms inside. This one is more familiar, but Daredevil never thought he would hear it again.

"Karen Page?" Daredevil asks, as she answers the door, swallowing all the shock and rage and confusion. There has to be some explanation.

"Oh, snap!" Wade gasps.

You were supposed to kill him!" The figure hisses angrily, dragging them both inside. "What the hell, Deadpool?"

Daredevil goes over the possibilities in his mind. Shapeshifters, mind control, necromancy. It's not unheard of, but there's something so viscerally wrong about the scene that Daredevil aches just being a part of it. He can't seem to move his legs. He can't move. "Why?"

"I don't owe you an explanation."

"I don't accept that. Please. We can fix it. Whatever it is, you were my best friend."

"No! You took everything from me! You _ killed _ me!" she explains heatedly.

"So now you're ordering hits on your old pals?" Daredevil is frantic now, grasping for some understanding. "I didn't kill you! It was Bullseye, don't you remember?"

"Was it? Or was it you bringing the fight to us?" she screamed, backing Daredevil to the door.

He wonders what her memories are like, now that Matt Murdock and the Daredevil are separate entities. Was Daredevil just a reckless idiot who put the innocent in harm's way? Some incorrigible flirt who tempted her?

"So you're ordering a hit on your best friends? Nelson? Murdock?"

"I haven't talked to them in years. All I know is that you're a menace and _ you _ need to be stopped."

"Karen, that's not the whole story, is it? I loved you," Daredevil tries. They were so much to each other.

"That makes it worse!" Karen snaps.

Daredevil tries to steady himself. He lifts his hands in as unthreatening a way as he can manage. Slowly, he takes off his mask and hands it to Karen.

It takes a second, but when it hits her, she gasps.

"Matt?" She ventures shakily.

"Hi," Matt says, trying on a smile.

She punches him in the face.

"Okay, I probably deserve that for killing yo-"

She punches him again. She pulls him downwards, tackling him to the ground and beats at him relentlessly. Matt doesn't fight back.

It takes Deadpool to step in and wrestle Karen off of Matt. He keeps her in an arm lock as she struggles and kicks. She flails out of his grasp, takes one of the knives sheathed at his hip and plunges it right into Deadpool's heart.

"Alright, little lady, I think he gets the point. Why don't we all take a breather and talk it out, huh? I'm sure many of us are confused. You're probably confused, Matt's probably confused, I'm definitely confused. Hell, the reader's probably confused. How's the author going to string this one together, you know?" Deadpool slides the knife out of his chest and lets it bleed all over the three of them. "I'm sure it's all very convoluted. We can handle all the messy stuff next chapter."

Karen goes ballistic. "What-?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> exposition chapter srry if it's boring i swear plot will happen eventually  
(i love zombie karen she's my wife now fight me)

The three of them are in the cramped space of Karen's mutant den. Well, it’s a built-in suite in an intricate underground city system, Matt comes to realize when he finds the energy to focus his senses and try to map it out. There are thousands of bodies moving around, chatting to each other, laughing together, playing together. It’s a full community here.

Bernice, Karen's roommate, makes herself scarce.

Matt, Karen, and Wade share the space of the living room and a bottle of cheap tequila between them.

"So what happened since the last time we met?" Matt asks.

"Well, I was dead,” Karen confirms succinctly, taking a swig. She passes it to Deadpool, who downs the whole thing before offering it to Matt. “I think for a long time. I don't really know what happened, exactly, but Bernice and I have been trying to piece it together. We think Mole Man dug up my body and somehow I ended up somewhere downwind, in Massachusetts. Maybe someone bartered with my body, maybe I just ended up in a lake somehow. Something shady, probably, since I lost my original right leg and kidneys.

"Then, a group of mutants found me," Karen explains. She was dead. Well and truly dead. A chill travels its way down Matt's back. "I guess there was some more changing of hands, and they eventually resuscitated me."

"How?"

"I don't know. There was a man who found my body and was using it to experiment. I guess some chemical cocktail revived my tissues and now, here I am. Once I was alive again, they took me in for a while."

"Sounds like Magneto," Deadpool interrupts, and catches himself. "Oh, yes. The emotional thematic plot. Please, continue."

"And then you wanted to kill me," Matt prompts.

"Pretty much. My brain got revived, but maybe a little twisted. I kept holding onto my last living memories. All I remembered was Daredevil, that I was in a relationship with him and you, and that I was stupid enough to try to save him. I guess I thought he was an asshole who convinced me to cheat on you, and that he just kept getting people hurt. It didn't make sense to me. I didn’t know what kind of person I used to be, just that didn’t regret dating the both of you. I remembered being intoxicated a lot. I remembered being lonely. I figured I was always just damaged and willing to hurt people. But now, I'm getting more of my memories back, and it was just you the whole time. I don’t need to feel guilty, right?”

“I’m so sorry. No, you have nothing to feel guilty about,” Matt says, holding out his hand. She takes it from across the coffee table and give it a light squeeze.

“I was a good person, right?" She asks, small.

"One of the best," Matt assures, smiling at her.

She leans back into the sofa and rubs at her temples. "It all came back to me like a flood when I saw your face. All the memories. I've never experienced anything like that."

Matt fidgets sheepishly. "Yeah. That one's my fault. Everyone found out about my public identity and it made the whole superhero thing very difficult. I made a deal to wipe everyone's memory, and I guess it messed with your mind, too. I hadn't counted on you coming back to life."

"Well, now I feel like an ass. I was willing to kill you. God, I’m so sorry. I loved you, right?" She sounds so lost and Matt wants to hug her.

"I like to think so."

"And how's Foggy doing?"

"He's been worse."

"Can I see him?"

-

"Let me go in ahead of you," Daredevil says. "He's probably sleeping."

Daredevil sneaks to Foggy's bedside and slowly starts nudging him awake.

Foggy groans to life. "Daredevil? What's up?"

"I have someone here who wants to see you."

Foggy groans blearily and rubs at his eyes. He turns his head towards the window and jumps. Karen steps in gingerly, freshly showered of Deadpool's blood and very much alive and breathing.

"Am I dreaming?" Foggy questions weakly. He rushes to her, holding a hand out, not quite touching her.

"No. I'm really here," Karen says, wetly. She takes his outstretched hand and guides it to her face.

"Holy shit. How?" Gently, he moves some hair out of her face and pulls her in for a tight hug. Daredevil feels like he’s intruding, a little. He tastes salt in the air, shocked tears leaking out of Foggy’s eyes. He loved her once, too, Matt remembers. He edges towards the window.

"I'll explain it to you later. Can we just stay like this for a second?" Karen asks softly into Foggy’s chest.

"I'll leave you to it," Daredevil interrupts before he’s stuck being a third wheel in this whole exchange. It’s a losing battle. It's also almost three in the morning, so he's very tired, but Matt’s only supposed to be back home in the morning. He can sleep on the roof. It wouldn't be the first time. 

He slips out quietly, wondering if they even noticed him leaving.

He tries to sleep on the roof for a few short and cold hours, and maybe Matt's realizing how feral he's becoming, but it’ll be sorted out once the truth comes out. And the truth ought to come out. The situation has gotten too messy. He’ll do it soon. Very soon, when Foggy isn’t so emotionally compromised from seeing his friend come back to life. 

He tries to give them privacy, but they’re only a few stories down, and their bodies seem so warm next to each other, lazily catching up and falling asleep beside each other.

He sleeps with the wind on his face, nestled between the door and a wayward tarp as shelter, insulated by his rumpled "date" clothes and some old, discarded blankets and coats that had been left on the roof. It's not comfortable by any stretch of the word, but Matt is so tired that he falls asleep anyway.

-

In the morning, a pigeon plucks at his feet curiously and he has to shoo it away before getting dressed in rumpled plainclothes on top of his Devil suit. Just like the night before, only Foggy isn’t there to fix his tie for him. He takes the normal people entrance back to his apartment, which is to say, Matt enters using the door, using his own key.

“Morning, Matt!” Foggy all but yells as he makes his way out into the room, limping like an old dog. “Wow, you look like you had an interesting night. Nevermind that, guess who also had an interesting night? ME. I’ll give you three guesses as to why. Nope, nope, and nope! It’s because Karen’s here!” Foggy rambles excitedly.

“Surprise!” Karen says, with a significant amount less conviction.

“What’s going on?” Matt asks, appropriately disoriented for the confused tone his voice takes on.

She goes over the story for a third time in about ten hours. This time, in bullet points as Foggy tries to do something about the bruising on Matt’s face. Karen’s heart gives off a little guilty trill, especially when Matt explains that he was just drunk and walked into a door. She concludes the story with a vague flourish, saying something about the Devil setting her straight and leading her to Foggy the night before.

"So what does that mean for us?" Foggy asks when she's finished with her story. He packs away the medical supplies and leaves the kit on the little table.

"Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I'm actually satisfied to go back to living underground indefinitely. I have a life there,” Karen shrugs. “But now that we know we’re around, we should definitely reconnect.”

"And you won't try to kill us again?" Foggy quips. He laughs about it, but the humour doesn’t quite reach his gut.

"No, I don't think I will. I was under some weird  _ mind altering spell _ , but I'm better now," Karen assures Foggy with a pointed kick to Matt's shin. "Tell him," she whispers to him quietly, so that Foggy won’t hear. “Anyway, I should be getting back to Bernice.”

“Bernice?” Foggy asks.

“Yeah, she’s been my very supportive partner in crime and life since I got the breath of life back. I think if we’d care to quantify it, we’d be a little married,” she explains, getting up from her seat. “I need to tell her some things.” She wraps herself in a scarf and a long-sleeved coat despite the summer summer heat.

“Doesn’t it get hot like that?” Foggy asks.

“Better this than getting harassed for having patches of blue skin,” Karen points out. She kisses Foggy on the cheek and pats Matt on the shoulder harshly before heading for the door.

Foggy stops her with a fumbled “Wait! Can I go with you?”

"Are you sure? In broad daylight?" Karen asks, dumbfounded.

"Sure. Matt, cancel all your plans today. My friend just came back from the dead."

Matt, not saying anything, follows close behind.

-

“Oh, Karen, back already?” Bernice greets from the kitchen table. She swivels to face them.

“Yup! I have a few old friends with me, if that’s okay,” Karen says brightly, hanging up her coat and walking over to give Bernice a peck on the cheek.

“Go ahead, I guess. Just make sure they don’t ruck up any trouble like last night.” Casually, she sips at her coffee.

“Thanks, Bern.” Karen ushers the dumbstruck boys inside and lets them have a seat before heading to the humble kitchen to start on some tea. “She was a nurse in another life. Bernie helped me through physio when I first woke up,” Karen explains. Bernice hums quietly and goes back to reading something on her laptop.

“Why is she down here now?” Foggy asks, incredulous.

“She was fired for being a mutant,” Karen spits, leaning on the wall to wait for the water to boil.

“That’s discrimination!”

“Yeah, it is. They fiddled with the paperwork, though. Fixed it so it just seemed like she was unreliable.”

“That was a long time ago, honey,” Bernice reminds her gently, as if it’s not injustice. Still, she sounds fond.

“I can help you,” Foggy offers, already pulling a business card out of his wallet.

“Foggy, you can help with  _ cases _ , but as soon as you leave the picture? Where’s the oversight? You’re not going to be able to help that bosses and clients are looking at her differently.”

They bicker around the point for a while, and Foggy follows Karen into the kitchen while she fires up the oven and starts slapping store-bought cookie dough onto a sheet of metal.

Bernice chuckles softly at the pair of them, tracking them with her face as Karen starts absently stress baking. Bernice must see this sort of thing often. She watches the pair before taking a breath to scrutinize Matt.

“Aren’t you the Daredevil?” She asks.

“No,” he answers, quick and obvious.

“I saw you like, seven hours ago. I do have pretty good eyes, you know.”

“Let me know what that’s like.” Matt gestures towards his glasses and puts on a smile. She doesn’t seem impressed.

“I know about things that seem impossible. I have friends who can literally spit fire. My mother could fly. I can move things with my mind. Your blindness doesn’t take you out of the running,” she tells him.

He fidgets for a second and moves into the chair beside Bernice. Frowning, he leans in close to whisper to her, as innocuous as he can so as not to startle her.

“Look, I am Daredevil,” he cedes. “But my friend doesn’t know that. So I would really appreciate it if you would keep mum about it around him.”

Bernice nods in understanding. “So you’re one of those secret identity guys.”

“I don’t wear a mask for nothing.”

“But he’s what? Your husband? You should tell him.”

“Why does everyone think we’re together?” Matt despairs and deflates into himself. He seems to be chronically easy to read. How has he managed to keep his identity a secret from Foggy this long?

“Are you not? I don’t know, you just have this air about you. Like you’re in love and comfortable about it,” Bernice shrugs and leans in to give Matt a performative sniff. “Also you smell like each other.”

“What?” Matt yelps, taken aback.

"Like you've been living together for a while," she observes. "Sorry to assume."

"What are you all talking about?" Karen asks, taking out another log of cookie dough and letting Foggy attack it with his mouth.

"Are your friends not married?" Bernice asks, genuinely.

Karen laughs, but then it quickly dissipates. "I don't know, actually. It's been ages since I last saw them. Maybe. Did you guys get married while I was dead?"

"No…?" Foggy answers, oblivious and innocent as ever. As if they might actually be married and maybe he had just missed something.

"I did find him sleeping in Matt's bed, though," Karen says to contribute to the conversation. She’s teasing them.

"Yeah, but I think I'd notice if we got  _ married _ ," Foggy notes. "Besides Matt went on a date last night with someone who was definitely not me, and I've been having a weird fling with Daredevil."

Both women turn to look between Matt and Foggy. Matt shrinks in his seat.

"Tell us about that date, then," Karen prods stiffly.

"No,” Matt sweats.

"Alright, fine. No names. Just tell us what this person is like,” Karen compromises, generous with her iron grip on Matt’s heart.

"We're supposed to be catching up.” The words land limp in front of him.

"We are. I already told you about dying. Now, let's get to the interesting stuff." She laughs, gleeful and carefree like it once was, ages ago. It pulls at Matt. He  _ wants _ Karen to be happy. He does.

Matt scowls. "This person is very nice," Matt offers, tight-lipped.

"We're going to need more than that," Karen demands with the grace of a deadly lion. She seems determined to see carnage today.

Matt searches for the words and balks. "And cute? And we have a lot of similar interests, I guess."

"And you like like this person?"

Matt sighs. "Yes. But definitely only as is proportionately appropriate for the amount of time we’ve known each other."

As in, Matt loves Foggy as much as a few decades behind them would lead to loving Foggy. They’ve shared their beings and melded into each other. Foggy is in his pores.

"They're lawyers," Karen explains to Bernice, who nods again.

"Emotionally stilted and terrible at communication?" Bernice guesses.

Foggy laughs. "Pretty much."

"What about you?" Karen asks Foggy. “Tell us about Daredevil.”

Foggy sets down his log of cookie dough and taps his fingers nervously on the kitchen counter. Each hit feels like it hits Matt straight on his forehead.

"Well, he's pretty much how you expect him to be. Just a whirlwind of a guy. We’ve met a few times in a romantic capacity, but I still don’t know his name. I’ve met his mother, but I don’t know what his day job is, if he even has one," Foggy shrugs. "I don't know where I'm at right now."

“So do you want to see him again?” Matt asks this time, suddenly very intense.

“Of course! We have to at least sort ourselves out, don’t we?” Foggy responds, as if to point out the obvious. “He’s very secretive! It’s weird and exciting, but I’m fairly sure it isn’t the basis of a healthy, long-term relationship.”

“Exciting?” Matt perks up.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I don’t know if you’ve ever consorted with a hero, but you can’t help but feel a little special. I’m just some guy, you know? But he’s giving me actual attention.”

Matt nods and tries to take Foggy’s feelings into consideration. He also really wants a long term relationship. Whatever move he’s going to make, he’d better do it soon. He mulls it over. How does one define ‘soon’?

The four of them spend long hours catching up. Karen tells them about talking to Bullseye, who really is just a complete nutjob, about the time she met Elektra somewhere in Oregon a few months back when she and Bernice were honeymooning. She also tells them about the time she saw the Punisher seemingly on a date with a short and portly man, bickering about computers and heavy machinery and eating greasy burgers together.

Nelson and Murdock, a partnership, tells her about the cases they had taken on, about how Matt had apparently been hiding the fact that he had superhero friends, and about all their weird dating app experiences until this point. Matt had a story where his date just wanted an autograph after having seen him in court. Foggy had a story where his date tried to coerce him into taking pictures of his feet.

Bernice stays quiet for most of it, letting the old friends catch up, letting herself be happy that Karen seems excited about this new development. When they get up to leave, Foggy does, indeed, give Bernice a business card with some other resources hastily scribbled onto the back.

“I know, it’s a little tacky to be networking right now,” he apologizes. “But if you need any representation for anything, just let us know. We’d be happy to work with you. And we do a lot of pro bono hours.” He holds out a hand for her to shake, but Bernice drags him into a friendly hug.

She seems genuinely touched as she receives the little rectangle of paper.

“I’ll keep it in mind, thank you. You’re good people,” she tells Foggy, an arm still around his waist.

Foggy laughs. “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but I do have to get to my crutches now.”

She pulls away and hands them to him. They all say their final goodbyes and the door shuts and locks before Matt picks up the conversation inside. They’re already well on their way to the city gate when Matt hears snickering alongside their names.

“How did they get through law school? They’re both so incredibly stupid,” Bernice howls to Karen’s agreement.

Matt smiles despite the growing guilt he feels clawing at this issue in his mind, because friendship is so rare and precious.


	8. Chapter 8

"Dude, what the hell, right?" Foggy says vaguely as they enter the threshold. He takes a seat as soon as he’s out of his outdoor clothes.

"Yeah. This is actually pretty crazy," Matt agrees, heading to the fridge to pick up some beers. He’s closer than ever to potentially telling Foggy everything. He still doesn’t know how much of that chasm there is left to close, but he’s jittery with the potential.

"You know, you'd think I would get used to all this superpowered stuff, but I don't think I ever will."

"No?" Matt asks. All things considered, alienating Foggy isn’t the goal. Telling Foggy the truth is supposed to make them better. If it was just going to make Foggy leave, Matt could find it in himself to hold off. Maybe after a few more years of Foggy getting used to the idea. Maybe some decades. Maybe never. Maybe Foggy prefers not knowing, maybe that’s just what’s best for the both of them.

"Yeah. I mean it's all so sudden, too. One minute, I'm just a guy living his life and now I've met all these heroes who run around in leotards and I’m contending with people coming back from the dead? How would we even present her as a legal person? I have her death certificate!” Foggy worries at the situation. He’s thinking too much, and he’s too close to realizing he doesn’t want anything to do with that side of city life. “Everything about this is insane.”

"What about Daredevil?” Matt asks in a careful effort to ascertain Foggy’s opinion on that whole mess. And even Matt has to recognize that it is a mess.

"Yes, I guess I have to sort that out, too." Foggy sighs. "But more pressingly, Karen is a zombie and she doesn’t have an active Social Security Number. That really limits her options. I have to find a way to give my zombie friend and her mutant wife some rights.”

"It’s pretty crazy," Matt agrees, settling down on the chair beside Foggy. He hands him some alcohol. "Does it stress you out, all this hero and superpeople business?"

"Yeah. It does,” Foggy admits easily. “But it also feels cool. Like I'm part of a secret club where I just know things about the world. Pros and cons to anything, I guess."

"And what do you prefer?" Matt asks expectantly, anxiously.

Foggy picks up on the worried energy and grunts vaguely. "I don’t really know if I get that choice. These are the people in my life, now. It’s too late to go back and cut off ties to anyone. And besides, it’s not like I can just ignore their presence, even if I don’t personally associate with them. I don't know what you want me to say. I'm just living a life, here. It’ll just go how it goes and I'm making my peace with it."

Matt considers this. Foggy has consistently shown himself to be adaptable. Foggy doesn’t always know what he’s signing for. How could he, when his life has been, thus far, up to the whims of fate and the danger that Matt brings with him? But still, every bit of evidence has affirmed Foggy’s constitutional strength and flexibility, even on a broken leg. Karen had tried to kill Foggy, but she had been so easily forgiven when she came out with a genuine apology and the truth. Is there something bigger between Foggy and himself?

Matt thinks so. He’s been actively lying for years, now. Karen died.

"Say, do you want to help me move back home since I'm mostly healed and the immediate threats on my life seem to be on pause for now?" Foggy asks, taking a long swig from the cold bottle in his hands.

These are objectively good developments, Matt tells himself. He definitely shouldn’t be disappointed to see Foggy off in decent health and relative safety. Only, Matt's gotten used to having a warm home to come back to despite the hardships of living with a man who doesn’t know half of his life. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s been comforting.

"I guess,” Matt says. “But you're welcome here as long as you want. You’re still in a cast for another week at least, and there’s nothing forcing you back home."

Foggy considers the idea as Matt sips at his own bottle as innocently as he can. It’s a friendly offer. It’s a bad idea. Another week is an awful, awful idea because now even  _ more _ people know who he is, and there are more people who are rooting for him to tell the truth sooner rather than later. Foggy’s closer to the reveal than ever before, and every moment Matt keeps it to himself is a risk. It’s a colossally bad idea.

"Are you sure I won't be overstaying?" Foggy asks suspiciously for signs of discomfort. Matt wonders what he picks up on.

"Not at all!" Matt says, berating himself for his foolishness.

“I did miss having you as a roommate. It’s just not the same in an empty apartment.” Foggy gets tight and then sighs. "Okay, then. One more week. But I'm going to start being at work this week whether you like it or not."

"I'll agree to those terms," Matt smiles and sticks out a hand to shake. He's so incredibly stupid. Matt has always been incredibly stupid. He’s a man with too many secrets. He’s a man still desperate to keep them for the sake of whatever little control he has left in pathetic life, and he’s too self-concerned to push Foggy out of the crossfire.

He acts as normally as he can for the rest of the night. He wants to savour having Foggy around before the bubble pops and Matt is either left bereft of a best friend and he gets to spend his lonely nights punching bad guys, not being able to keep track of Foggy, or Foggy accepts him for who he is and drifts away slowly, realizing for himself how continued contact with such a precarious legal situation might be a detriment to his health and career.

They eventually get ready for bed and decide to watch a movie together, for old times’ sake. Foggy’s breath is mint-fresh and enticing as he narrates sleepily for him. Foggy starts nodding off a few minutes in, resting a head on Matt’s shoulder, and Matt has never been more alert. He lets Foggy breathe softly into his chest, even as the credit music starts to play and Matt has to move the laptop out of the way. He knows he should sleep on the couch, and he wants to move with every fibre of his being, to be a respectful sort of man.

Instead, he shifts the pair of them under the sheets and tries to fall asleep to the sound of Foggy’s snoring beside him. They’ve shared a bed before, and Matt refuses to make this weird. Foggy unconsciously pulls him into a warm embrace and it gets weird.

Matt wakes up first and he pretends that he doesn’t. He lies there, listening to Foggy sleeping and feeling his steady warmth beside him like a radiator. They have arms swung around each other’s chests and Foggy’s cast wrapped around Matt’s waist. They’re blanketing each other, and Matt is baptized in the other body.

Gingerly, he moves forth to kiss Foggy, just a little, on his hairline. His hair is always soft, and his skin tastes like sleep-sweat. He moves their torsos closer. The movement makes the other man stir to snuggle Matt ever tighter, but Foggy still doesn't wake up. Matt refuses to feel guilty about this one. He probably should, but it feels right to share these sleepy moments together, unmasked and in pajamas. Matt falls asleep again, matching his breathing to Foggy's.

Foggy wakes up slowly with a groan. Matt is between states, not quite asleep but not quite awake, either. Foggy, eyes still heavily lidded on Matt’s skin, sniffs at his neck and presses a soft kiss there. Startled, Matt jumps into a sitting position, unseeing eyes crusted with sleep and bulging from his skull.

"... You're not Daredevil," Foggy observes astutely as he makes sense of the situation. Which. Um. Haha.

"Nope, just your good ol’ pal, Matt," he agrees hastily. Scrambling for some semblance of sanity. He still feels the wet saliva from Foggy’s sleep-soured lips. His heart hammers in his own ears and it sounds about ready to burst.

"Sorry for kissing your neck, there, buddy. It's just. I could have sworn…” Foggy trails off nonsensically. “Have you always been so jacked?"

In all this time hiding from Foggy, he had forgotten that his best friend is not an idiot. Of course he would notice certain similarities. Matt shifts around in his T shirt bashfully.

"I'm a boxer in my free time," Matt tells him, remembering his cover story.

"Right, right," Foggy says vaguely. He shakes himself awake. “That explains all the muscles.”

"Ready for your first day back to work?" Matt asks instead of heading down wherever they were headed. He heads to his bathroom to wash up.

"Sure. I'll head back home for some clothes real quick, though. Is it tacky to wear the same stuff to church and work?" Foggy follows Matt in and takes up the space beside him.

"No, I do it all the time. You could always borrow something if you want to switch things up, though," Matt insists a little too eagerly, toothbrush still in his mouth. He’s just being a good friend is all. He had been badgering Foggy to get nicer shirts for years. He wants his best friend to know what a silk shirt really feels like on the skin. He wants to introduce Foggy to a whole new world of natural fibres and breathable luxury. He deserves it, and it has nothing to do with territoriality whatsoever.

"There's no way we're the same size, man,” Foggy observes as he digs his fingers into Matt’s waist for a quick pat and tickle. Matt giggles involuntarily, nearly choking on his toothbrush, before regaining composure.

"I'm sure I have something. The tailor gets on me for broad shoulders all the time," Matt smirks charmingly. Not that he keeps a stash of nice shirts to give Foggy or anything like that.

"Stop being hot right this second, Matthew," Foggy orders. He gathers Matt’s face into his strong, wide hands, and for a pre-caffeinated moment, Matt thinks Foggy might kiss him. Instead, Foggy’s hands are quickly replaced by air and Matt receives a light yank on his earlobes. Matt nearly chokes from the whiplash. Foggy’s only older than Matt by a few months, but in moments like these, where Foggy does something inexplicable and affectionate, that Matt feels lost and naive. He’s blushing now, he’s got to be.

"I refuse." Matt spits into the sink and starts to wash his face. Foggy pouts and bumps him out of the way to wash up first. They compete for sink space, and Matt’s heart just about bursts from how much he likes having his best friend get ready with him. It’s when he bursts out laughing, Foggy’s hand on his face to keep Matt from getting to the towels that Matt realizes he’s irreconcilably in love.

Eventually, Foggy takes to the shower and Matt excuses himself from being in Foggy’s presence while naked.

Living with Foggy is tragically fun. Matt knows he’s going to miss it when they invariably part ways and Foggy has to go back to his own apartment. He’s going to live all the way over there, with his own life and interests, and he’s going to think up jokes in his head and Matt won’t be there to laugh with him. He’s going to fumble at his coat in the mornings and Matt’s not going to be there to smooth down all the seams before he heads out the door. He’s going to fall asleep at his desk from working long hours at home and Matt won’t be there to carry him to bed. Foggy is going to leave and live a full and happy life away from Matt, and maybe even get married one day so Matt can be sure he will never get this again.

Matt resolves to savour the rest of the week. He suppresses the burning need he feels to kiss Foggy all the time, to hug him, to pet his hair, to stand really close to him. He stores all these pent up emotions in a secure box in the back of his brain so Foggy might enjoy this week, too. He’ll just have to never mention it again. For Foggy’s sake.

His friend steps out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. He ambles over to the bed and sits down to take off his cast cover.

“Do you need help with your plastic bag?” Matt offers after listening to Foggy struggle for a few seconds.

“If you don’t mind, thank you,” Foggy says, a little sheepish for asking for yet more help. Matt happily obliges, and he crumples to his knees in front of Foggy’s still-damp form. He’s acutely aware of his hands at Foggy’s knee and Foggy’s hands folded patiently at his lap. If he shifted his touch just a few inches, they could tangle their fingers together. A few inches more, and they could be lovers. Instead, Matt dutifully helps Foggy out of the cover and lets him get dressed for the day.

Foggy searches through Matt’s drawers for a nice shirt that will fit him. Sharing clothes is romantic, too, Matt reasons. He can still live out his tortured fantasies like this, in case God was worried Matt had actually gained some discipline.

Maybe it was an ill advised move to let Foggy rummage through the closet freely because just as Matt adjusts his tie, he remembers that he’s probably the least subtle being on the face of the planet.

"Why's your gym bag so heavy, dude?" Foggy jokes as he shoves Matt's very secret bag aside to look at Matt’s accessories.

"Boxing equipment is heavy," Matt sweats, not looking back toward his friend as he tracks Foggy lifting it up and giving it an experimental shake.

"Is that metal in there?" he asks.

"Nope."

Foggy pauses, clearly suspicious. Foggy’s breathing stalls for a second as he fights the laugh at Matt’s embarrassment. Matt knows that his friend tries very hard to respect his privacy. But as a best friend, there’s only so much Foggy can do. Especially when he senses a teasing moment coming on. Matt regrets not just leaving his actual embarrassing stuff lying around. Old elementary school yearbooks, teenage diaries, a taco mascot suit he had acquired in one of his Daredeviling escapades that he could definitely spin into an easier story than this.

Foggy opens the zipper with a flourish. Dramatically, he looks inside.

“Is this like a sex suit?” he asks, actually dumbfounded.

Matt breathes out in relief. It’s probably true that the outfit looks different in daylight, smushed around in a dusty gym bag. The details get lost, Matt guesses, especially with the distinguishable headpiece buried at the bottom. So, like a sensible man, he takes the out.

“Yes,” Matt answers, heart hammering out of his chest.

“Okay, I feel like I know way too much about you now,” Foggy laughs as he puts the bag aside, warm to Matt’s senses, blushing. Foggy grabs one of Matt’s ties and starts twisting it on, a full windsor knot because Foggy is excited today. He also grabs one of Matt’s shoes and puts it on. Foggy’s a half size smaller, but he loves to borrow Matt’s shoes. Matt’s been told that they’re slightly heavier and more cushiony than Foggy lets himself get, and now Matt splurges on oxfords and brogues whenever he gets the chance. 

“How do I look?” Foggy asks. Unfortunately for him, the only mirrors in Matt’s apartment are in the bathrooms.

“Perfect,” Matt tells him straightly, giving him the “ok” symbol with his left hand.

“Thanks, buddy. I feel like a million bucks.” 

“How’s everything fit?” Matt asks, taking the time to run his hands over Foggy’s broad shoulders and down the side seams to his waist. He takes his time, pressing the fabric flat on Foggy’s body.

“Decently well, but definitely nothing to be feeling me up over,” he teases, hands on his hips.

Matt pulls his hands away immediately and smiles unconvincingly at the other man. Inexplicably, Matt feels an urge again, and he feels so comfortable in the moment that he goes against his better judgement and lunges his head toward Foggy, letting his lips graze a supple cheek that smells like Matt’s aftershave. It lands with a wet smack.

Foggy’s heart trips over itself and Matt realizes where he is and who he's with. Respectfully, Matt backs away and apologizes. "Sorry if that was weird. I just had a weird impulse.” It’s not an explanation that makes any sense, but it’s the one he’s got. Matt takes a moment to reflect on the fact that his entire career is built on clearing up misunderstandings.

"No, it's fine," Foggy assures, placating hands hovering in the air between them. "It's like when my nana used to dress me, actually. It’s not a big deal. I kissed your neck this morning, remember?" Foggy, in turn, also leans forwards and gives Matt a small peck on the cheek. “See? It’s all good. We can be those affectionate type of buds.”

Being compared to Foggy's grandmother isn't the most comforting response to Matt kissing Foggy. He tallies it up and writes it down in his mental chalkboard, lining up all the instances of maybe-flirting and bro-jokes. He connects it to the looming question that occupies Matt’s mind far too much these days, in such close proximity to Foggy. Would he be receptive?

It’s pathetic, but Matt can take being compared to Foggy’s grandmother. He'll take it if it makes Foggy wearing his clothes and living in his room for damn near a month less weird, if it means he can kiss Foggy a little without being too obvious.

He worries he might be a little obvious anyway.

He’s totally obvious anyway.

He resolves to tell Foggy by the end of the week. In the meantime, Matt buys him coffee and chocolate croissants, setting the goods in Foggy’s hands like a peace offering. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the stupidity continues! i wanted a nice little chapter of the boys just talking it out and being *friends* as a break from all the wildness happening around them lol. so they're communicating. badly, but they're doing it!


	9. Chapter 9

Foggy takes back to work like a bored fish to water. By noon, it’s like he had never even taken a break. Matt supposes he didn’t really; he had spent a lot of time at Matt’s desk at home, taking calls and emailing clients. Matt should well know by now that Foggy, the machine, doesn’t know how not to be occupied. So he drinks the too-bitter coffee their office coffee maker spits out. He fits his ass onto the seat molded perfectly to its contours. He faces his screen and doesn’t let up until closing time rolls around, and he seems content about it. Matt, who takes frequent breaks to check up on Foggy, is astonished.

By 2:00pm, Matt thinks Foggy ought to have more fun. He doesn’t do enough for himself, and he’s been really cooped up these last few days, undead friends aside. They’d both been dealing with a lot and despite living with him, Matt had been missing Foggy. They only had one more week together and it’s only right they make the most of it, both as best friends and former roomies.

“Want to go to the pub?” Matt asks as they leave for the night. Matt fits himself beside Foggy to help him down the stairs and their bodies slot together like that’s where they belong.

“Yeah, let’s do it!” Foggy says, taking most of his own weight now. “God, I haven’t had a proper drink in forever.”

“Have you missed it?” Matt asks, because after everything, Matt has missed the way Foggy gets impulsive and giggly after a fireball or two. The nostalgiac that he is, Matt distinctly remembers how carefree they once were with the aid of a good old fashioned whiskey drink.

Foggy chuckles, a little nostalgic, too. He hops down the last few steps. “I’ve missed watching the awkward dance of courtship from a distance, I’ve missed masculine guys trying to convince people they like scotch, and I have definitely missed seeing you sloshed!” He claps Matt on the shoulder and readjusts his crutches to support himself and the air between them rushes to displace their warmth.

Matt sticks his tongue out petulantly. “What do you mean? I’m a perfect gentleman,” he scoffs primly, putting his free hand in his pocket instead of in the crook of Foggy’s elbow as usual.

“You get all loosey! And you flirt with the waitstaff,” Foggy says happily.

“I don’t recall ever flirting with anyone, ever,” Matt denies.

Foggy laughs at him some more and the sound warms Matt’s heart. “You’re a silly drunk! You’re the most embarrassing man I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting!”

Matt pouts the whole way to the bar, valiantly fighting laughter even when Foggy digs a finger into his side to try to get him to break.

It’s way past dark when the pair of them leave the bar, giggling into each other’s necks. They make it six steps out of the establishment when the air a few blocks east shifts heavily, the heat and movement of large, strong, and impossible bodies spreading out like a small army. Matt knows it’s trouble, but he’s too far to get to his suit. He’s also pretty sure that’s Spider-Man attacking civilians and Luke Cage barrelling through police forces.

“I gotta go,” Matt pales.

“Whaddaya mean, Matty?” Foggy slurs, preciously oblivious.

“I gotta _ go _,” he reiterates, leaving Foggy to head to the commotion in the park. He vaguely registers Foggy collapsing onto the street behind him, but his legs keep taking him elsewhere. A sinking feeling in Matt’s gut tells him that it’s all his fault, somehow.

When he gets to the scene, the Purple Man is there, sweet talking people into giving him their money, belongings, and bodies. He's groping a woman when he catches Matt searching for him.

"Hello, Matthew! Thank you for sending your friends my way,” he villain says cheerily. Matt takes his steps forward, trying to do something about the whole situation but not quite knowing how to proceed.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he breathes, inching his way closer to the Purple Man. He clenches his fist, but doesn’t know what he’ll do with it.

"No, but it turned out this way, nevertheless." The Purple Man makes his way over to Matt and smoothes over his drunk-rumpled clothes. "So again, I say, thank you."

Matt shivers at the touch, the breath as it makes its way over to him. Still, he has to know. Know anything, and maybe, how to stop it. "What's your game plan, then? Just doing what you're doing ad nauseam?"

"Well, I have to die one of these days, but that’s for a future me to figure out. It’s just that I've been a little bored recently, and I’ve got to thinking ‘maybe I could start an empire’. Wouldn't that be a hoot?"

"You can't seriously be doing all this on a whim." Matt feels something inside himself wilt. The words, the flippancy, it’s too much. And the Purple Man’s pheromones are surrounding him now.

The Purple Man pauses. "Can't I?" He brushes something off of Matt’s jacket.

"That's abhorrent."

The other man shrugs nonchalantly. "Well, power over individuals only gets you so far. I think power over nations might be fun to try." The man turns on his heel and leaves Matt gaping in his wake.

"And you think you're equipped to rule people?" Matt calls, frantically scanning his surroundings for an explanation, something to fix this.

He clicks his tongue. A patronizing sound that Matt has learned to thoroughly hate. "I don't want to rule them. I want to dominate them. Think about it, I could be in charge of entire nations. I could usher in a new age of world peace. I'd be remembered forever."

"And it matters to you? Being remembered?"

The Purple Man pauses and shrugs. "I suppose it does." He meanders over to Luke Cage and gives a curt nod in Matt’s direction.

Matt could probably take on Luke Cage. He had never had reason to suspect things would come to it, but despite Luke’s immense strength and inhumanly impenetrable skin, Matt’s nimbler and quicker. Given a long enough time to go at it one on one, Matt could probably eke out a victory. Probably. On the other hand, Luke is a long term friend, and the prospect of beating him up makes him halt.

A gunshot sounds and Matt jumps a foot in the air. Luke Cage doesn’t even flinch as a bullet bounces off of his chest and rolls to a stop on the concrete by his feet. The Purple Man holds out a halting hand at him.

“Matt! Get away from him!” A limping gait and the clacking of a crutch make a sloppy waltz up to the commotion.

“Foggy? What are you doing here?” Matt asks, frantic. Foggy can’t be here. It’s too dangerous, even with what appears to be a small revolver to aid him.

“Matt, you have to get away. It’s not safe here!” Foggy takes some steadying breaths and strengthens his hold on the gun. Matt is too shocked to move, but the adrenaline kicks in a second after. Foggy in danger. Like alarms in his mind clouding everything else. 

“Oh, no, Foggy, don’t do this. You have to get out of here.” Matt’s still dizzy from the beer, but Foggy is here and warm and in danger. They have to get away. He tries to shove Foggy away, to urge him to leave, but, infuriatingly, he stays in place.

“Ah, yes, the partner,” the Purple Man says rotely, contemplating some things between the three of them. The Purple Man turns his attention to Foggy and Matt pales. “You want Matt Murdock, too, don’t you?” The words come out and attack Foggy, and his body sours with fear. Matt feels bile rising to his throat in anticipation. “He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve seen,” The Purple Man whispers, right into Foggy’s ear. “You can’t keep your hands off of him.”

Foggy makes to drop the gun, but before he does, he fires another shot. This one lands in the Purple Man’s foot and he hollers in pain. The spent gun falls to the ground and Foggy makes his way over to Matt, catching him in a reluctant embrace and collapsing them both on the ground. It’s more or less Foggy on top of him, equal parts shielding him and pinning him down.

The bleeding villain shrieks in pain and hisses a long string of imaginative curses. “That wasn't very smart, Nelson. Be a peach and shoot yourself right in your fat face,” he commands.

Heart revving alert, Matt grabs Foggy’s hands to prevent him from reaching the gun. Matt kicks it away and grabs for Foggy’s phone in his jacket pocket and whispers, “Camera.”

Foggy nods shakily, understandingly and takes what must be the most depressing selfie ever.

“Lawyers,” the Purple Man bemoans, reaching forward to grab Foggy by the hair and yank him harshly. “Kiss Matthew.”

Foggy obeys and Matt can tell just how much Foggy doesn’t want it. His heart beats with fear, his breathing is too erratic. He doesn’t have the constitution to fight Foggy off. For a torturous moment, Matt wants to cry. But then, Foggy ends the kiss to rest his forehead on Matt’s shoulder and whimpers a little. “I’m sorry, Matt,” he says quietly, as if any of this is his fault. “I should have warned the Avengers better.”

It sobers Matt.

The Purple Man kicks Foggy in the ribs and knocks him to the concrete. “Matthew, you can work with me. You can have this man, or anyone else you want. Just say the word. I can make him love you.”

“No,” Matt says, horrified at the suggestion.

The Purple Man sighs. “All you hero types are so noble. It didn’t work with any of them, either.” He switches tactics and turns to face Matt. “Let’s do this the fun way, then, shall we? You are going to work for me to help me bring my empire into fruition, Matthew Michael Murdock. I'm going to bring prosperity worldwide.” He waves Luke Cage over to carry him, likely to find something for the bleeding hole in his foot. “You know I’m right.”

Which is well and good, because it’s all a good idea, anyhow. Who can say no to world peace? Only truly twisted people would prevent worldwide union from happening. Suddenly, Matt can’t fathom how he couldn’t see the genius of the plan mere moments ago and he tries to follow the Purple Man to wherever he needs to go, to await his next order.

Only, Foggy’s still here, holding him in place.

“Let’s go. We have to help him,” he says.

“No, we don’t. At least I don't. We're going to stay right here until everything wears off and I can get my hands off of you,” Foggy says, holding Matt tighter. "You're the most important person in my life and I'm not about to let you be used as a pawn for whatever Killgrave is cooking up."

Matt reaches over the tangle if arms to cup his best friend’s face. “Foggy, you don’t want to do this. He’s just doing his mind control thing. You don’t want me,” Matt reminds him.

“Regardless, he’s also controlling your mind into thinking it’s a good idea to follow him. Believe me, It’s not.”

“It’s world peace we're talking about,” Matt argues, struggling out of his partner's grasp, but they’re both still drunkish and eventually Foggy pins him down again. They're two drunkards rolling around in the park, and Matt is hyper-aware of how they must come across.

“No, it’s the same stuff we’ve been seeing since undergrad!" Foggy fights. "It’s oppression. It’s duress!” Foggy remains firm, and Matt's starting to lose track of the Purple Man with his hazy senses.

“Foggy, let go of me. He’s getting away. I need to get to him before it’s too late,” he says, wrestling his way out of Foggy's embrace. Foggy doesn't flinch and stops Matt with a soft hand on his wrist.

“He just said to help him, right? He didn’t say anything about urgency. Do it tomorrow." The argument is probably infallible because Foggy has always been smart. Matt considers it. His friend continues. "And- and what can you even do as a civilian, anyway, amongst those heroes wreaking havoc? I’m sure you can miss out on tonight.”

In a sense, Foggy is right. Well, he would be right if Matt wasn’t Daredevil. But as a civilian, he can't do anything so he stays in Foggy’s arms and counts the Purple Man’s steps as he gets farther and farther away. He could just wait until later. That part is true.

“Okay, okay. Point made, Foggy. I get it. We can do this later," he cedes.

“You’re not just tricking me because you want to actually follow him?”

“No, I swear, Foggy. On my life, I wouldn’t betray you like that." Matt likes to think he's honest.

Tentatively, Foggy backs out a little. Then, still suspicious, he puts some proper distance between them, standing up though he maintains his hold on Matt's hand.

Matt lets go an brushes himself off of the dirty ground. “See? Not a flight risk.”

“Alright. But you’re going to take me back home so we can lie low while this whole thing blows over.”

“No, it’s not going to blow over. It's a global project we’re talking about here. The Purple Man isn’t just going to get bored within the hour and call the whole thing off," says Matt.

“What can we do, then?" snapped Foggy. "People like us, we aren’t equipped for situations like this. Don’t you have a superhero friend who won’t be affected by the Purple Man?”

Matt makes a mental list of all the people he knows.

“Hawkeye?” Matt suggests.

“What’s his number?”

Foggy leans into Matt as they walk back home. They don’t let go, not even a little bit, and Matt wonders how much of it is the Purple Man’s niggling insistence that Foggy keeps his hands on Matt and how much of it is residual fear, or even Foggy’s leg worsened by their tussle. Either way, Matt shouldn’t be taking his comfort from the proximity because the proximity isn’t really for him. He remembers Foggy’s forced kiss, the reluctance in his friend’s body, and he shivers.

They enter the apartment together, and Matt immediately starts calling Hawkeye on his phone.

“Hey, Red. What’s up?” the other man greets when he picks up the phone.

“Hey, so there’s a bit of a situation downtown,” Matt starts. Foggy unloads himself onto the coffee table and sits down to sigh heavily. Matt walks into his bedroom, in case the conversation gets a little too revealing.

“The Purple Man mess? Yeah, I’ve heard. I’m on my way.” Sure enough, through the audio static, Matt can just about construct the street through the line. Hawkeye’s driving.

“Oh, good. You can handle it, then?”

“Not alone. I might need you in, like, half an hour, if you can make it. Just in case it all goes south. Okay, I’m taking my hearing aids out now, I’llseeyouinthrityminutesbye!” Matt hears before the dial tone finds his ears. Matt tosses his phone onto the bed and takes a moment to collect himself.

The thing is, he still feels like the Purple Man might be onto something with the collective hivemind thing. Lord knows Matt has used those powers for personal gain, and the denizens of New York have been all the safer for not knowing about the Daredevil’s identity. It makes sense, and there’s precedent. The Purple Man is intrinsically selfish and generally unreasonable, but he’s not weak. Matt could probably counsel him through the more difficult decisions.

He steps out into the living room to Foggy shaking his leg in anticipation. The air is a heavy cloud of dread and pregnant worry.

“I’m going to go find Hawkeye. He needs backup,” Matt states simply, reaching for his jacket again.

“And what are you going to do, Matt?” Foggy sounds defeated and something tightens in Matt’s chest. “You’re going to go back and bend to his will again? Hawkeye might stand a chance, and he can fight. I don’t care how well you box, Matt, you’re not going against Killgrave!”

“Are you saying I can’t? Hawkeye’s disabled, too, and you’re not on his case about it!” Matt knows he’s being unreasonable. A lot of people can’t see past Matt’s blindness, and all the potential he loses out on because of it. He knows, but it still hurts to hear from Foggy.

“Because he has arrows! He can shoot people at a distance where he can be _ safe _ . You have no idea what it was like to see you in the park. He was _ touching _ you, Matt! He could have been doing anything!” Foggy fiddles with something in his hands and it takes a second to register the smell of gunpowder. Matt wracks his brain to remember when Foggy had picked it back up. It’s leverage.

Matt feels a fight coming on, and heat rushes to his face. “No? He touched you, too. He made you do things, too. And I was right there. Don’t tell me I don’t understand!”

“Matt, you don’t understand!” Foggy stands up and hobbles his way over to Matt by the door.

“Then what is it? What makes your anger so special?” he demands.

“Because I love you, okay?” Foggy confesses. He makes a grab for Matt’s hand and makes him feel the contours of the revolver. Foggy softens his grip and lets Matt’s hand fall away. “I can’t lose you. And you’re still a little drunk and I found a gun in your house, Matty. You’re not going on a martyr mission. You’re the only constant in my life and I love you so much.”

And it guts Matt because it’s not real.

“No, you don’t. You can’t,” he insists. He heads into his bedroom to pick up his gym bag and heads out the door.

He listens as the door closes and Foggy repeats curses like a mantra.

-

He greets Hawkeye at the scene with a little wave, but the Purple Man is already gagged and bound and Hawkeye is sitting cross legged outside, playing “I spy” with the younger Hawkeye while they wait for the police.

“He was already shot in the foot,” Hawkeye shrugs before Matt can comment.

-

When he gets back home, he finds it empty. There’s a gaping hole where Foggy once was. All of his belongings are gone, down to his toothbrush and last sock, and all Matt has to remember his friend by is the lingering smell of his body as it had crept into the pores of his home. Matt should appreciate a full and empty bed after not having had one for a month, but all he can think about is how much it smells like Foggy and how cold it is without him in the space.

Sweaty and exhausted, Matt heads out one last time to try to make amends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? another anticlimax?? killgrave is weak lol


	10. Chapter 10

Matt launches himself onto Foggy’s tiny balcony and listens to the familiar sounds of his best friend living inside. He’s on his couch, eating a late-night sandwich and watching X-files. It’s so unspectacular Matt almost breaks down from it. Like Foggy can just keep on living life without Matt.

He knocks on the glass and Foggy's demeanor changes. Something akin to fear and hurt take over the movements of Foggy's body. Slowly, he hobbles over to the glass door and inches it open.

"What do you want, Matt?" he says, quiet and unwelcoming. The door doesn't widen, and Foggy doesn't move to let him in.

“We should talk.”

Foggy sighs and finally lets him in. Foggy sinks back down onto the couch and takes a few deep breaths.

Matt, eventually, opens his mouth to speak. "I should tell you-"

"Stop," Foggy orders. "I have some evidence I want to look over with you." He takes a deep breath and Matt stands, immobile, by the glass. "One, you have a lot of bruises that coincide with the Daredevil's." Foggy holds out an accusatory finger in the air. "Two, you're shifty and quick to ditch plans with me." Two fingers wave in the air, now. Needles to pierce Matt's fragile heart. "Three, you have a bunch of superhero friends who seem to know you pretty well. Four, despite claiming to be friends with Daredevil, I've never seen you two in the same room. And five," Foggy breathes, palm out to Matt's face. Matt braces for a halting hand on his chest or to be pushed back out onto the balcony. Instead, Foggy hovers the hand in the air. If he flinches, Foggy would know Matt knew it was coming.

"And five," Foggy says again, this time with more power. He lets his hand drop to his side, an angry fist vibrating with unease. "You just swung up to my balcony using the Daredevil's billy clubs."

"What are you saying, Foggy?" Matt asks, feigning ignorance. It’s the wrong move. Of course it is.

"I'm accusing you of something. Why don't I believe what's well in the evidence, Matt? How come I can't wrap my head around the idea that you're- that you're," Foggy hesitates.

"That I'm Daredevil," Matt finishes. "You've known, Foggy. I just made you forget."

Foggy turns away from him and makes frustrated gestures in the air. For a second, Matt thinks Foggy might genuinely attack him, and Matt thinks maybe he deserves it.

“What the fuck, Matt?!” Foggy all but yells, throwing a pillow at him. Matt catches it easily.

“I’m sorry-”

“You slept with me!”

“Foggy, listen-”

“You’ve been lying to me for  _ years _ about being Daredevil?”

“I’m trying to say-”

“Get out of my house right now.” Foggy says it quietly, but it hits Matt like a slap to the face.

Matt could try to explain himself, but the truth is, there isn’t an easy and sensible explanation. There’s only one of cowardice and deception, and Matt doesn’t know if speaking on it would mitigate or exacerbate Foggy’s current state shock and anger. Suddenly, the weight of honesty bears own on Matt. The price of honesty, something Foggy deserves, that all of his friends deserve and desire, is somehow always a large chunk of Matt’s soul.

When Matt sleeps, he doesn’t dream of Foggy. He dreams of nothing at all, and it might as well be the same thing.

-

Foggy doesn’t come into work the next day, or the day after that. The office is so quiet in his absence, even when there are clients around. Matt listens to the city, sometimes. Stretches his senses to see if Nelson and Murdock, together, are missed. 

They’re not. The world doesn’t care about them at all, and why would it? They’re the world’s slowest missed connection. They’re the dissolution into heartbreak on a decades-long soundtrack. The reality is that they just aren’t meant to be together and Matt had been selfishly holding onto the hope that Foggy would never realize it. Matt is cowardice. Matt is deception. Matt is ill intentions and misguided actions.

-

That night, he works through his grief with his fists on the bodies of people who don't deserve it, either. He spills too much blood and breaks too many bones and he doesn’t even stop until Jessica Jones drags him away from the unconscious body.

“Hey, asshole. I get that you’re excited about being back at work and everything, but that guy’s about half a punch away from a collapsed lung. Cool. Your. Jets,” she says, pinning his face to the nearest wall.

Luke Cage, who had just called the cops, steps over the body and leans on the wall beside Matt. “Jesus, Daredevil. It’s just a drug bust, dude. There’s no need for all this.” He gestures at the barely-breathing pile behind them. “Go home, dude. I don’t think you’re ready for this yet.”

“I am,” Matt assures them, unconvincing to his own hypersensitive ears. “I’m ready. I just need a second to collect myself.”

Cautiously, Jones lets him off of the wall and he spits some city grime onto the ground just to follow it down to the asphalt. He lands heavily on his butt and supports himself on the coolness of all the stone around him. Everything feels immobile.

“Are you okay, there, buddy?” Luke Cage asks him. Matt buries his face in his knees and shakes his head. It’s childish at best. “Is it about Foggy? Because you should talk to him as soon as you can.”

“I can’t. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.” He sounds whiny and young and petulant, but it feels honest.

Jessica sighs dramatically at him. “With all due respect, you’ve been through this before. He forgave you before, I’m sure he’ll come around again. What makes this time so different?”

Matt knows the tone. Like she’s trying to be logical. But Matt doesn’t want to be logical at the moment, he just wants to be sad. “It is different. I was worse this time around.”

She sighs again and crouches down so they’re talking face to face. “Then why did you keep it from him so long this time? Did you consider how he might feel, knowing that you messed with his memories like that?”

“That’s it, I guess. I messed with his memories and I liked that he didn’t know,” Matt admitted, guiltily. “That he could look at me and still see me as the sweet kid he knew in college. And he forgot about all my indiscretions.”

“Did it seem worth it for you? Keeping half your life secret from him indefinitely?” She’s veering just on the condescending side of caring, but Matt can’t bring himself to feel belittled. He can’t feel much smaller than he already does.

“I know it doesn’t make sense. But when I met him for the first time after the whole blank slate thing happened, he was the happiest he’d been around me in a long while. He wasn’t asking if I had any injuries he had to look over, and he wasn’t prodding at the state of my mental health. I was just Matt again. It was nice not to see him worry.”

“He wants to worry about you,” Luke says. “It means he cares. Look, Jess can break bones with one finger and I still worry when she’s out later than she says she’ll be. That’s just how love works sometimes.”

Matt frowns even harder. “He doesn’t love me anymore. He can’t. There’s no way.”

The pair look to each other for a second as Matt continues to mope. Luke clears his throat. “You should talk to him. Honestly, he’s doing just about as well as you are.”

Matt’s head shoots straight up. “Has he said anything?”

Luke hums. “Not really about you. He pulled some connections to apologize to me for shooting me in the chest. Then he gave me some kid’s contact info. Apparently some kid from Chinatown’s been knocking at the windows of his firm, looking for a mentor. And apparently Daredevil hasn’t been very receptive.”

Matt huffs indignantly. “See? I’m not even his favourite local hero.”

“Stop being an idiot,” Jessica says with an air of finality, putting her hands in her pockets and shifting out the the alley. “C’mon, Luke. Let’s get home before Rand corrupts the baby.”

“Tell Dani I say hi,” Matt requests sadly. He finally stands up and brushes the dirt from him person. The sirens are only a few minutes away now. An ambulance, not the police.

Jessica presses her hand onto his chest. “No. Sadsacks don’t get toddler privileges. She’s not even going to remember you exist until you talk to Nelson.”

Matt sighs. Well, now he’s got to talk to Foggy.

-

He doesn’t talk to Foggy. He goes to church, instead.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” he starts rotely. A good Catholic start. “It’s, uh, it’s been a few years since my last confession.” He fiddles with his cane.

“So share your sins, my son. We’ll sort you out, yet,” the priest urges from the other side. He seems the warm type, and Matt is hopeful about this one.

“I’ve- I’ve been deceptive towards a good friend of mine, and I don’t know if I can make it right between us.”

“Through our Lord, all things are possible. Have faith, my child.”

Matt exhales slowly, shakily. “I’m not sure about this one, Father. I’ve done some unforgivable things to him. I’ve lied for a long time. About who I am. I got him to become affectionate towards me under false pretenses. I don’t deserve his friendship.”

“But do you think he would have befriended you regardless or whatever hangs between you?”

Matt thinks it over. “No doubt. But that’s more a call to his virtue than the magnitude of my sin. He would be kind to anyone.”

The priest pauses for a long second, and Matt doesn’t know how to read the pause. He sweats a little in the booth. “I see this weighs on you,” the man says from behind the wall.

“It does.”

The booth is quiet for a long while. If Matt couldn’t hear the breathing on the other side, the priest hunched over in prayer, he would think the man had simply just left.

“Do you know what a sin is, my child?”

“It’s going against God’s will, Father.” Matt says automatically.

A sigh. “I see you had fun in Sunday School. But we might wish to ask the question of why God commanded what he did in the first place. A sin is an act of self-service, my boy. It is to say that you know better then the Almighty Himself, that you serve yourself before you serve the divine product of His creation, that your wants are more important than keeping peace with those around you,” he says. “Withholding the truth, a Godly thing, is to deny the Lord’s knowledge. For that, I trust that you can apologize to Him, yourself. However many Our Fathers it takes.”

“Thank you, Father,” Matt says, still antsy and dissatisfied.

“More pressing, there is the sin you’ve committed against His beloved child, your friend. Withholding the truth is to deny his reality, to prevent him from fully consenting to your friendship under the light of plain truth. I trust that you know what you must do to right the situation.”

Matt gulps. He does know. He doesn’t know how to go about it, though. “Yes, Father. I understand,” Matt tells him. He slumps in his seat and has the urge to pray. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness, not for this, but any little bit helps, in the cosmic sense.

“Anything else to confess, my child?” The priest asks.

Matt scrubs a hand on his forehead. He doesn’t need to say anything else, but he’s feeling honest. “Just the regular sins,” he laughs dryly. "The venial ones."

“What, all of them?” the priest laughs along.

“Yes, all seven of them. All about this friend, Father. I hate to say it, but especially the greed. And the lust. I think I might burst with it.”

“Then I fear it’s not something I can forgive,” he responds sagely.

“That bad, huh?” Matt chokes. He wants fresh air, he wants to suffocate in this booth.

“No, that’s just called love, my child.”

-

He still doesn’t talk to his friend. On the first Thursday post-Foggy, he gets a visit from Karen with a coffee in her hands. She stalks into the office and knocks gently at Matt’s door. He waves her in, but finds that words elude him.

“He got his cast taken off yesterday,” she tells him.

“Great for him,” Matt answers morosely.

“He mentioned you.” Karen takes a seat in front of him, a swish of multiple layers of fabric. Matt sits up.

“What did he say?”

She gives off a kind of uncomfortable, high pitched whine. “It was a lot of cursing,” she admits.

Matt deflates in his seat.

“He’s pissed, but he also knows how bad you are at communication. And he knows you’ve literally saved his life a few times. So once he gets past the utter betrayal, I’m sure you guys will be okay,” assured Karen. It doesn’t help much.

Matt nods glumly.

“I really screwed this one up, huh?” 

“You really did, pal. But it really is your MO. You dated me with a secret identity, too.”

Matt frowns further.

“Listen, Matt. I’m going to give you the process. See, as soon as you took the mask off in front of me, it’s like I’d always known. Like a veil lifted, but it was translucent and I could already make out the contours. And then I kept recovering these memories, and everything just slotted back into place. So, not only is he dealing with the fact that you had been lying to him, but he’s dealing with the fact that his memories are changing, too. His entire reality is changing. The important thing is that he knows now. And there aren’t any more secrets between you guys. You can build up from that, right?”

“I don’t know," Matt admits, lost beyond measure.

Karen pats his hand with one of her own. It should be comforting, but it doesn't ease the anxiety welling up in his gut. “Just talk to him. He loves you a lot, you know.”

“Still?”

She nods gravely. “Yeah.”

-

The next week, Foggy’s back to work, and he pointedly does not talk to Matt. The week passes through to Friday, and all he knows of Foggy is through stilted words and formal emails. They split the work by case, not by statement.

It's another form of torture, to live in this shell of the relationship they used to have. To be around Foggy's heat and smell, and passing by it like ships in the night, never truly touching. Foggy's so close, but he's not with Matt.

Fridays are usually spent in the pub across the street. Matt waits until 8pm in his office to avoid being the first one to leave. To see if Foggy will bring it up. Walk out together. To have a comet fall on him. Whatever will make things better.

It's 8:03 when Foggy silently makes his way into Matt's office and takes a seat. Gingerly, he places two tiny bottles of bourbon on the desk. Matt reaches for one and takes an astringent, deep molasses sip. Foggy mirrors him.

"I get your powers, now." Foggy says to Matt, head on and hard to read. "I get your whole Daredevil shtick. I get why you didn't want the public to know about you. I get it. I really do," Foggy rambles, as if trying to convince himself as well. "But why would you keep it from me? Aren't I supposed to be your best friend?"

Matt's heart broke for them both, again. "You are."

"But I wasn't important enough to tell?"

"It wouldn't have benefitted you, it would only put a target on your back. It was better for you not to know,” he tries to explain.

"But then I got hurt, even though I didn't know. What about then? Why not just let me consent to the antics by telling me, then?"

Matt could bear to lose a little pride for Foggy's benefit. Foggy hadn't been one to look up to him since their college days, and Matt preferred equal footing anyhow. His pride is notorious for bruising easily, but Foggy never digs his fingers in to worsen it. Honesty. He values honesty.

"I was scared that you'd leave me."

"You should trust me more."

Matt sighs. Wishes he were a smarter man. "I know. I'm sorry."

"No, you don't get to be sorry," Foggy sighs. He rubs his temples. "I was flippant with your emotions as Daredevil and you saved my life a bunch. I know I shouldn't be this angry."

"You have every right to be."

"Do you want to agree to just both forgive each other?" Foggy laughs and the air loosens marginally.

Smirking, Matt extends his pinky finger towards his friend.

"What are we, five?" Foggy grumbles as he catches the finger with his own. An unbreakable pact sealed.

"Did you mean it when you said you loved me?" Matt asks, on the subject of honesty.

"Of course. You're my best friend.” Foggy’s heart ramps right up and he warms. Shyly, he moves his hand away. Matt hopes it means something. More honesty couldn’t hurt, right?

“You’re my best friend, too,” Matt smiles. “And by that I mean I love you, too. I would like the opportunity to kiss you again at some point, if that's okay.'

“Oh!” Foggy gasps. “Oh, okay! Great! Um,” Foggy stammers and backs out of the room.

Matt tracks him as he closes the door, walks halfway to his own office and then turn swiftly around.

“I meant to kiss you before I left.”

“Go right ahead then.”

He does, a chaste one on his cheek. They smile at each other and Matt drags Foggy in for a proper one with tongue and everything. Then, they’re grinning too hard to properly do that anymore.

“Should we hang out later?” Matt asks.

“Tomorrow. We’ll start tomorrow,” Foggy assures, a little breathless. “It’s too indulgent to do anything today.”

“Fine,” Matt agrees begrudgingly. He’s waited this long.

-

After having endured hours of the Defenders clapping Matt on the back and offering their congratulations, Matt sneaks into Foggy’s apartment at 12:01am.

“It’s tomorrow,” he says simply. Foggy’s still at the desk in his bedroom, typing furiously despite the dozing sway to his head. “Are you actually still working?”

Foggy groans in affirmation. “You were literally just out,” he mumbles, but he lets Matt pick him up from his spot and carry him to bed. Foggy reaches up to remove Matt’s mask for him when they land in a heap together.

“Mr. Nelson,” Matt smirks, breathing in Foggy’s air.

“Daredevil,” he responds as Matt unzips his jacket. Foggy flops around and nearly falls asleep. Matt leans down to kiss him. A giddy feeling flares up in his chest. “I’m sleepy. Kiss me later.”

“Okay,” Matt promises. “Can we cuddle a bit?”

Foggy nods into his pillow. “No body armour in the bed.”

If that’s Foggy’s only wish, Matt would happily oblige as long as he’s allowed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woooo!! we've made it to the end, folks!! i gotta say, this is my longest and least focussed work, but i had a hell of a time playing with different personalities. a bit anticlimactic at times, not as intensely emotional nor as actiony as it could have been, and very unfocussed thematically, but here we are.
> 
> thanks for reading fam

**Author's Note:**

> [ hey guess who has tumblr ](https://artbymintcookies.tumblr.com/)


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